


The Five Times Clint Thought Phil Wasn't Human (and the one time he was right)

by AlexKingOfTheDamned, swimsalot



Category: Avengers
Genre: Burns, Character Death, M/M, Science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:46:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/AlexKingOfTheDamned, https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimsalot/pseuds/swimsalot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is Phil Coulson all he appears to be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mild, vague porn in this chapter

The first time is when he’s young, and he maybe made assumptions too quickly. Clint shoots Agent Coulson a look for about the twentieth time that night. The man looks so calm and put together despite the fact that they're snowed in a tiny shack in the middle of Russia with no food. This mission was a bust from the beginning but Coulson didn't seem to mind. He wasn't happy either, not like a man who would take any excuse to get out of the office. It's more a kind of serenity, like he's simply accepted that this is their fate and nothing will change it so why get pissed.  
  
It confuses the hell out of Clint.  
  
At twenty-two years old he's been a part of SHIELD for a little over a year. In those 14 months he's been bounced between four different handlers, each having their own issues with his attitude. One didn't like how he'd chat over the comms while waiting for his shot and had dropped him after two months. The second punched him after he got snarky during a reprimanding about pranking his fellow agents during his third month. The third quit when he realized Clint didn't trust him enough to follow his orders over his own instincts, one month, and the last had been unnerved by his ability to show up out of nowhere at any time and had decided that between that and Clint's reckless disregard for his own safety he just wasn't worth the time. Three months.  
  
Coulson is number five and so far he's outlasted any of the other. Five months and so far not even a crack in his perfectly composed facade. He doesn't take crap from Clint but he also respects his instincts and his need to be alone sometimes. He even lets Clint be late with his reports, knowing the younger man has trouble reading. He's been good to Clint and the archer appreciates it. Even if he doesn't understand it. Despite himself he's started to like Coulson. Which is why, as much as he would like to, he hasn't made a move on him – yet. His handler has a certain mature, mysterious appeal that Clint is drawn to instantly. If he were anyone else he would have taken him to bed already. But this looks like it might actually have a shot at working out so he holds back, preferring a good handler to one night of good sex.  
  
This is the first time they've been out in the field together though and Clint is having trouble wrapping his mind around how calm Coulson is. The man is certified for field work, he knows that. But he looks more like an accountant than an agent. By all reckoning he should be freaking out. They've failed the mission, pick up won't be here for days and all they've got to eat are a few granola bars and coffee. Even someone highly trained would be showing a little emotion by now. But not Coulson.  
  
Clint's stomach growls and he reaches into his bag for a bar. It's hard and unappetizing but it's better than starving. So he takes a bite and holds it out to his handler.  
  
"Want some?"

 

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” Coulson offers him a disarming smile. His legs are crossed up on the small cot he’s sitting on, his hands on his knees, in what looks like a meditating position. His expression is still calm as he looks over the young man before him, who’s looking at him like he’s dropped down from another planet. “Is something wrong?”

 

"Look agent, I know handlers are supposed to take care of their assets but you need to eat too." Clint replies with a roll of his eyes. He's seen people who pull the self-sacrificing thing before. He always found it stupid, even when he was a kid and his own brother gave up meals so he could have them. He always thought it made more sense for them both to be less hungry than for only one of them to be completely full and he still thinks that. "I haven't seen you eat since we left. You have to be starving, just take the damn bar." he says. "There's four more left so if we each have half for every meal we should be fine until our pick up comes."

 

“I said I’m not hungry,” Coulson says, shaking his head. “If I get hungry I’ll ask for a bar. Just because you haven’t seen me eat doesn’t mean I haven’t. You haven’t spent every single moment at my side during this op.”

 

Clint shrugs and takes the bar back, tearing off another bite. Coulson is right. He could have easily gone and gotten a sandwich or something while Clint was setting up his nest. He doesn't know. And if he really isn't hungry, well, more for him.  
  
"Thanks. Just let me know if you get hungry."

 

Their pickup contacts them in a few hours on a staticky radio to let them know they will actually be there a day and a half earlier than expected. Clint starts to get frustrated when Coulson tells him over and over again that he doesn’t want any of the bar. He seems perfectly content to keep drinking coffee – and they sure do have plenty of that. Clint sees him take a pill once or twice but doesn’t ask anything about it. He knows better than to ask personal questions of SHIELD handlers. They don’t like that.

 

The bars are gone in one day because Clint is used to eating like a horse to keep up with the fact that he works out almost six hours every day. He might have rationed them more except that Coulson made it really, very, very clear that he didn’t want any.

 

It's another two days before their pickup comes. He's thankful they're early now because he's hungry. Really hungry. He doesn't complain because he knows that won't change anything. He's been hungry enough times in the past to not let it get to him. But he's gotten used to regular meals since joining SHIELD and his stomach has started protesting not being full for the first time in so long. Still, Coulson doesn't say anything. He just drinks his coffee and lets it go.  
  
"You're tougher than I gave you credit for." he says as the climb into the chopper. Coulson raises an eyebrow at him in question and Clint laughs. "Or maybe your species just doesn't eat like the rest of us."

 

“Cute,” Coulson narrows his eyes at the young agent as the chopper takes off. They’re given hot tea and blankets which Clint accepts earnestly. He’s never been a fan of tea, but anything in his stomach is welcome now. Anything to soothe the ache that has festered there.

 

By the time they touch down at SHIELD headquarters he feels very warm and even a little bit less hungry.

 

“You go to the cafeteria,” Coulson tells Clint, who’s looking longingly in the direction of that very room even as he follows Coulson to Fury’s office. “I’ll report to Fury alone, it’s alright. Go get something to eat.”

 

"Permission to kiss you sir?" Clint asks teasingly. He hates debriefing and having to sit through Coulson droning on to Fury while his stomach is ready to secede sounds worse than any of the tortures he's had to endure so far as an agent.  
  
"Denied. You haven't brushed your teeth in days." Coulson replies, the barest hint of a smile softening his expression.   
  
Clint just laughs and takes off down the hall, nearly skipping to the cafeteria. His mouth is already watering as he pushes open the door and is assaulted by the smell of food.   
  
"Aren't you beautiful." he mutters to a hamburger as he places it on his plate next to a handful of fries and an apple. The apple is for Coulson. He'll bring it to him after he eats because he knows the agent won't be able to leave and get himself a real meal for at least another few hours.

 

Coulson watches Clint’s gleeful body language for as long as he can before the young agent disappears from sight around the corner. He moves onto Fury’s office and sits in the chair across from him, ready to start the debrief.

 

They aren’t in there for more than an hour when Clint is done eating (maybe he over-ate a little, but oh well) and he heads towards the office, shiny apple in hand.

 

He stops at the door, however, because Fury sounds angry.

 

“You can’t keep _doing_ this, Coulson. People are going to notice something is wrong.”

 

“With all due respect, sir – ”

 

“No, Coulson. You haven’t eaten in six days. I don’t care _what_ excuses you have. Go _eat_ something.”

 

Clint's brows shoot up as he presses himself more tightly against the wall. Coulson hasn't eaten in six days? The self-sacrificing dick. He should have known he was lying. But what could Fury mean that people were going to notice? It didn't make sense unless Coulson had something wrong with him that he was trying to cover up. Some sickness or something. Clint knew a lot of diseases caused lack of appetite but they all came with other symptoms except anorexia. And he doubted Coulson was anorexic.  
  
Fury's door opened and the agent in question stepped into the hall, looking thoroughly annoyed. He turned towards his office and started to walk away when Clint slid out of the shadows behind him.  
  
"Boss isn't too happy with you." he calls. "Six days man? Why didn't you say something?"

 

Coulson actually _flinches_ at the sound of Clint’s voice and turns to him abruptly. “You were listening in?” he asks, his voice a little sharp.

 

Clint smiles and tilts his head in a silent _'Are you really surprised?'_ He takes a few steps closer and tosses Coulson the apple. "No offense sir but that was just dumb. We had food. There was no need for you to starve yourself."

 

Coulson catches the apple without even looking at it. “I didn’t starve myself,” she shakes his head without lifting the apple to bite into it.

 

“Oh, don’t bullshit me –”

 

Coulson suddenly holds up his hand to silence Clint. He reaches into his coat and takes out a small bottle of pills and shakes it. “These are supplement pills. I take these and they give me all the calories and nutrients I need for twenty-four hours. They’re not a permanent replacement for food but they work in a pinch. SHIELD-made.”

 

"Huh." Clint says, reaching for the bottle only to have it snatched away by his handler before he can close his fingers around it. Makes sense. He's never heard of supplement pills like that before but hey, he's never had exploding arrows either. SHIELD has a lot of things most people don't. It isn't all that surprising. "And here I thought you were an alien. So why don't we all get them? Because I could have used them these last few days."

 

“Above your paygrade,” Coulson says, tucking the bottle back into his coat. “And they’re not perfect, so not many people are supposed to have them. Still in the experimental stage. As it turns out, they give all the vitamins and nutrients you need, and effectively destroy your appetite entirely.”

 

"You guys should market them as diet pills. You'd make a killing." Clint smirks. "You could use the profits to make those new grappling arrows I want. Just something to think about over dinner." He grabs Coulson's arms and steers him towards the garage. "We're going to your place and I'll cook for you. No arguments sir."

 

“You know how to cook?” Coulson asks with a smirk as he allows the young man to drag him along.

 

"I'm a pro. Cook better than anyone in the cafeteria." He says proudly. Coulson is still looking at him with the questioning smirk so he rolls his eyes and adds, "I cooked in the circus. A lot. For everyone. We had shifts and I liked it so I volunteered and started to experiment. I got good at it."

 

Coulson just chuckles. “I can walk on my own, thank you,” he says as he pulls his hand away from Clint’s grip. He drives them both back to his place (Clint notes that he has a _really_ nice car) which is actually a room in a hotel.

 

“It’s a nice setup,” Coulson says as they step into the elevator. “Don’t worry, I have a fully stocked kitchen. But I don’t have to pay bills, and SHIELD pays for me to stay here. I never run out of hot water, I don’t have to wash any of my towels, shampoo and soap and things are provided for me, and when I don’t feel like putting together a sandwich I call for room service and order something.”

 

"Better than the barracks." Clint says, kicking off his shoes. He pads over to the kitchen and opens the fridge, glad to see that he at least has butter and a few vegetables. He closes the fridge and goes to the cupboard, pulling down a box of spaghetti. He then finds a few pots, a can of diced tomatoes and a few spices. He fills the largest pot with water and sets it one the stove before emptying the tomatoes into a smaller one and starts adding spices to make a sauce.

 

“Wow you really do look like you know what you’re doing,” Coulson remarks as he leans back against the counter. Clint is about to say something witty when he sees Coulson, at which point he promptly forgets what words are used for. His jacket is gone, his tie is loosened and his shirt is unbuttoned down to his collarbone. Even when they were freezing in Russia for days he was always perfectly put together, but now he’s looking deliciously disheveled.

 

Clint swallows thickly and turns back to his cooking. He adds a bit more oregano, running through ingredient names in his head to dampen his arousal. He's here as a friend, not to try to seduce Coulson. As much as he would like to. He's here as a friend making sure his friend eats. That's the end of it.  
  
"You don't cook much huh? Live on those pills?" he asks.

 

Coulson’s eyes flicker with interest, but Clint doesn’t see that because he looks back down too fast. Coulson saw that stare, he knows that expression. He doesn’t say anything, though.

 

“Mostly, honestly,” he mutters, picking open another button as obviously as he can, to see if he can attract Clint’s eyes again.

 

"You'll waste away like that." Clint laughs. He turns and sees another button open on Coulson's shirt. He can see a little bit of his chest hair and his mouth feels dry. He licks his lips and stirs the sauce. The water is starting to boil so he adds the spaghetti, enough for both of them.  
  
"What's in those pills anyway? How do they work?"

 

“Do I look like I’m in engineering? I don’t make the pills, I just take them,” Phil says as he finally pulls his tie off his neck and tosses it onto the counter a ways away from them. Leaning back on the counter on his elbows, he crosses his feet in front of him and leans over to smell the sauce. Suddenly he remembers what an appetite is.

 

"Are their side effects? Like do you get really hungry if you wait too long between taking them?" Clint asks. He stirs the sauce some more and lifts the spoon to Phil's mouth. "Taste a little, tell me what you think. It might need a bit more basil. But I'm not sure."

 

Phil leans forward and closes his mouth around the spoon, giving an indulgent moan at the taste. A little bit dribbles down the corner of his lip so he licks it up. He knows Clint’s watching him, and he can’t help but toy with him. Young men are so adorable.

 

“I don’t know much about cooking, but it tastes amazing to me,” he says, leaning back again.

 

Clint places the spoon back in the pot and takes a little for himself. He closes his eyes as he rolls the sauce around in his mouth, savoring the taste. It's good but not perfect.   
  
He swallows and opens his eyes, smiling at Coulson. "I was right about the basil. Check the pasta, will you? And you didn't answer about the side effects."

 

Coulson’s eyes flash again, but not with interest this time. And Clint still doesn’t see.

 

“Can we stop talking about the pills?” he says, his voice has the barest hint of an edge to it.

 

"I'm just curious. I've never heard of anything like that before." Clint shrugs. He's not looking at Phil anymore, too absorbed in his cooking. "They're pretty amazing. You went six days without eating so I'm curious. They seem like miracle pills."

 

“They’re not a replacement for food, I already said that,” Phil says. “I’m not _supposed_ to skip meals in favor of the pills, I just _do_. It’s not healthy. I’d really like to stop talking about it.”

 

"I can come cook for you sometimes if you like." Clint offers. He sets the sauce to simmer while he checks the pasta. "I never get to cook at SHIELD so I'd be more than happy to. You can just call me when you're thinking of taking a pill instead of making yourself something."

 

“It’s not like I’m an addict,” Phil says sharply, crossing his arms over his chest and for the first time Clint can see a little shape to them beneath the shirt – are those _muscles?_

Clint smiles and turns off the stove. He lifts the pot with the pasta and nudges Coulson out of the way so he can get to the sink to drain it. "I never said you are. Get some plates will you? I'm just offering my services."

 

Coulson lifts a couple deep-dish plates out of the cupboard and sets them on the counter before hurrying over to his kitchen table to clear away his laptop and a stack of papers, setting them instead on the coffee table.

 

“Your services?” he smirks, leaning back against the table. “You’re not a prostitute.”

 

"Not usually." Clint teases, winking at Coulson. He doles out the pasta and the sauce and carries them over to the table. "But I meant as more of a caterer. Or chef. Babysitter, maybe. You take care of me in the field and I take care of you back here. It's a win win. You don't need the pills and I get off base."

 

Coulson fetches two forks and hands them out to the two of them with a little chuckle. “I think I can live with that,” he says, sitting at the table and mixing the sauce into the past thoroughly.

 

They eat and for a while, Coulson manages to get the conversation off the pills. They talk about the op, Coulson shares a few funny stories about his past SHIELD assets he worked as handler for, he even shares a few funny stories about Fury. Clint nearly starts choking several times he laughs so hard.

 

They finish and when Clint rises to take the plates Coulson orders him to sit down. Saying he's done enough already the older man takes their dishes to the sink and begins to rinse them. There's a lull in the conversation and Clint's mind drifts back to their earlier conversation.  
  
"Isn't this nice? Having a homecooked meal rather than those tasteless pills?" he asks, hoping to solidify his position and have Coulson invite him back again.

 

Coulson doesn’t mean to drop the plate, but he’s glad it doesn’t shatter. “Didn’t I say I didn’t want to talk about the pills anymore?” he snaps, harsher than he meant to.

 

"Jeez, calm down." Clint says, leaning back in his chair. He drapes his arms over the back and uses his foot to tip the chair so it's resting on just the back two legs. "It was just a question. What are you getting so worked up about? Did you steal them or something?"

 

“I didn’t steal them,” Coulson says firmly, scrubbing at the plate again. “I just think it’s annoying that you keep mentioning them.”

 

"Hey I'm a street kid. If there's something that can keep a person from starving for a while I get excited about it." the archer laughs. "Never know when I'm going to end up back out there. Why does this bug you so much?"

 

Coulson sighs and his shoulders sag. “The younger agents all think I’m a robot,” he mutters. “You’ve probably heard the rumors. They _actually_ think that I’m a _robot_. I take those pills because they’re convenient, and allow me to keep working throughout some days when I need a few extra hours and I can’t take time to eat. But when it starts going around that nobody has seen me in the cafeteria for four or five days… young people are malicious with rumors. It’s not like I’m some complete freak of nature, I… I have needs and aches and wants like other humans, I’m not some android,” his voice is soft, and almost vulnerable.

 

Clint frowns and gets up, going over to his handler. He places a hand on his shoulder. He wants to give Coulson a hug but that seems like seriously overstepping his boundaries. So he just lays a friendly hand on his shoulder.  
  
"I don't think of you like that. Sure you don't seem human sometimes but I know you're still one of us. You eat and drink and I've caught you sleeping at your desk at least twice." he assures him. "They're just idiots with nothing better to do than insult their superiors. It doesn't mean anything. And you can always change it by coming down to the cafeteria now and then."

 

Coulson is silent for a while and he lets the warm water run over his hands. “I don’t like eating alone,” he murmurs. “And unfortunately, being one of the top agents in SHIELD means not having time for friends.”

 

"You got me." Clint takes the dish from him and picks up a towel to start drying it. "I can be your friend if you want. No one likes me anyway."

 

Coulson feels his heart throb and he swallows hard. “You’d really want an old man for a friend? Handler is one thing, but… friendship comes with deeper commitments.”

 

Clint nods. He knows that. And with most people he would be scared. But he likes Coulson. He could be Coulson’s friend for as long as Coulson would have him. Hell, he'd be willing to try for something a little deeper if Coulson was up for it. Relationships don't last but they're fun in the mean time. And he thinks Coulson would be a good man to be in a relationship with. And when things do go south he thinks Coulson won't hurt him too bad.

 

Coulson’s smile is strange and nearly pained, like he’s simultaneously having the hair plucked out of his legs. “I don’t think I’d make a very good friend, but,” he swallows. “Thank you.”

 

"I know I'll be bad at it." Clint laughs weakly. "But it'd be fun to try. And I'm serious about cooking for you. If you quit the pills and put some weight on no one can call you a robot."

 

“Just because I’m a desk worker doesn’t mean I have to be fat,” Coulson protests. “I don’t need to put weight on.”

 

"I was joking. You look great." Clint flushes. He hadn't meant to say that last part out loud, it had just slipped out.

 

Coulson raises his eyebrows at the young man. “You think so?” he already knows the answer to that.

 

“You know, I think I’d prefer to go back to you being angry with me about asking too much about the pills,” Clint chuckles anxiously.

 

Coulson pulls his hands out of the sink and turns off the tap, grabbing a dish cloth to dry his hands with as he smirks down at the shorter man. He’s got at least five inches on him, and he likes the way he can look down his nose at the man.

 

“Now you’re just being an ass,” he says, his smirk almost catlike in his mirth.

 

"Well it is my best feature." Clint teases flirtatiously, turning around and making a show of swaying his hips as he goes to put the plates away.

 

Coulson doesn’t hesitate to sneak a peek, and he gives an appreciative smirk. As Clint stands up on his tiptoes to put away the dishes, Coulson steps up behind him and abruptly fills his hands with Clint’s soft ass. Clint gasps and nearly drops the plates on the shelf.

 

“I can’t argue with you,” Coulson murmurs as he imposes himself over the shorter form of the younger man beneath him.

 

Clint turns and finds himself pressed against Coulson's chest. He seems a lot bigger up close like this. More intimidating than usual. He doesn't seem like an office worker now. He seems very much like an agent. And Clint loves it.

 

“If I’m not mistaken,” Coulson starts, his voice low in his throat. “You have been eyeing me for months now. Maybe a little bit less subtly than I’ve been eyeing you.”

 

Clint's blush deepens but he doesn't deny it. He nods slowly, his mouth gone dry. He can't believe this is happening. It sounds like Phil is trying to seduce him. And if he is Clint isn't going to stop him.  
  
"What are you trying to say, sir?" he asks, feigning an innocence they both know he doesn't possess.

 

“I’m saying, in no uncertain terms, that I want you bent over my counter,” Coulson says boldly. He knows that Clint is attracted to him, and he’s definitely interested in getting that tight SHIELD uniform off his hard, sculpted body. And if he gets Clint’s mouth down between his legs, then he’ll definitely shut up about those pills.

Clint sucks in a breath. He hesitantly reaches out and takes him by the hips, tugging the other man close so they're pressed firmly together. "Let's do it then. You and me."

 

Coulson doesn’t think there’s any more need for words, so he hungrily begins to suck and nip Clint’s neck, filling his fingers once more with the younger agent’s ample backside, and he grinds their hips together. Clint is moaning desperately against him as he lifts the young man up onto the counter and steps between his thighs to continue grinding against him. His teeth and his lips are urgent, his fingers are probing and leave no inch of skin untouched.

 

Pressing Clint back over the spacious countertop, he strips him of his clothing and tastes every part of him, sucking and kissing until the archer is writhing and his hardness is weeping.

 

Clint gasps and moans and pulls away to divest Coulson of as much of his clothing as he can. The man ends up shirtless with his pants open but not off by the time he's done. He pulls out his cock and sinks to his knees, sucking and kissing and licking until Coulson is slick with his saliva. He loves the way his handler growls and pulls his hair and the way his thighs clench to keep him upright.   
  
He stops and turns his back on him, draping himself across the counter top. Coulson wastes no time preparing him with fingers slick with spit while he kisses Clint's shoulders and back.

 

The first time he sinks into Clint is pure bliss. It’s been months upon months since Coulson has gotten laid, and Clint is more than amazing. He ruts into him hard and fast, leaning out over him, whispering praises, growling encouragements, drinking in every sharp, sweet sigh the man beneath him grinds out between clenched teeth.

 

Chest to back, arms tight around his waist, he fucks himself into Clint in heavy, hard strokes, wringing a loud climax out of him in only a handful of minutes. They continue twice more, gradually moving to the couch, before Coulson comes hard and sweet and endless into a gracefully arching Clint, who collapses over him, completely and utterly destroyed.

 

“You animal,” Clint pants, voice hoarse, kissing at Coulson’s ears and neck and shoulder.

 

Coulson helps Clint gently slide off his cock, which squelches out of him rather noisily, and three-fucks worth of semen trickles out of him.

 

"Do you want me to go?" Clint asks hesitantly, pushing himself up on his arms to look down at his handler. He would prefer to stay the night but Coulson is a man who likes his space. And no one has ever really kept Clint around for breakfast.

 

“No I don’t want you to go,” Coulson laughs like he’s surprised Clint even asked him that. “Come on, let’s shower off together and get to bed. I’ll drive us back to work tomorrow.”

 

He helps Clint to a stand, keeping him upright when his jelly legs sag on the way to the shower. They don’t fuck again, and Clint actually likes the way that Phil gently washes him off and holds him up against his chest while Clint works the come out of his body so it can wash down the drain with the water.

 

They get out of the shower together and dry each other off. Coulson lends him a pair of sweatpants for the night and they climb into bed. Clint stays on his side, not sure if Coulson wants to cuddle or not. But then Coulson reaches for him and he gladly moves closer, fitting surprisingly easily into the other man's embrace.

 

He wakes up in the middle of the night, however, restless as usual. His fingers itch for his bow, he usually shoots when he can’t sleep. But he can’t leave now, he won’t be able to get back if he does, and he can’t just disappear in the middle of the night. So he decides to explore the vast hotel suite instead. Maybe play with the jets in the bathtub, or make himself some toast.

 

But he comes across Phil’s jacket lying on the back of his kitchen chair, and he can’t help but move towards it, curiosity fueling him. He knows he probably won’t be able to make heads or tails of the label on the pill bottle, but something about Phil’s sensitivity on the subject makes him want to look over the bottle anyway.

 

But when he pulls the bottle out, the label is completely blank. It’s just a piece of white paper wrapped around the clear orange tube. He cracks the lid off to peek inside. There’s a couple inches of plain blue tablets inside. Taking one out to inspect it for any markings whatsoever, he accidentally held it too tightly and it crumbled. He almost flies into a panic, but couldn’t help but notice the consistency of the crushed pill was a bit odd.

 

He looks closer and then licks his finger. It tastes sweet. Actually it's nothing but sweet. The pill is powdered sugar in the form of a capsule. He quickly closes the bottle and slips it back into Phil's pocket. He's heard of the placebo effect before and that seems to be the only explanation for what this is. Coulson was told these pills would keep him from being hungry so they worked. He clearly doesn't know they're fakes.  
  
Clint slides back into bed after that, snuggling up to Phil. No wonder Fury was worried. But that doesn't matter now. He'll make sure Phil gets all the food he needs.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time, Clint was _sure_ something was up. It’s only the second time Phil came out into the field with him. (He’d asked Clint to start calling him by his first name.) After that night in the hotel room, Phil asked if Clint would be something more than just an asset, and something more than just a friend. What he’d started as a way to keep Clint from asking questions turned into the best sex of Phil’s life, which turned into an emotional attachment. He grew very fond of Clint, very fast. And he didn’t ever need to know that their relationship was based originally on keeping Clint’s mouth occupied. Two years later and they were still going strong, so _one_ of them at least was doing something right.

 

“You’re not supposed to be out in the field, sir!” (he only called him sir when they were working, or unless Phil asked him to in bed)

 

“You don’t give the orders, agent!” Phil quips back.

 

They are currently in the middle of a firefight. Clint had been pinned down and it didn’t look good, and he was very surprised when Phil showed up out of the blue beside him with his gun loaded and extra ammo strapped to his body Rambo-style.

 

"You're going to get yourself killed sir!" Clint shouts back, not caring what sort of trouble he'll be in later. He doesn't like Phil out in the field at the best of times. He prefers he stay at their base. "I can handle myself. Go back while you still can!"

 

“Don’t give me that! You’re shit with a gun!” Phil shouts over the sound of gunfire with a wide grin. It isn’t completely true, he’s actually pretty good with a gun, but when compared to arrows (which he is sorely out of) he’s awful.

 

He leans around Clint and in three quick shots, cleanly kills three of the five men who had Clint pinned down.

 

"I'm an expert marksman with all weapons Phil. Guns included." Clint replies defensively. He might not be able to make the same trickshots with a gun that he can with his bow and arrow but dammit he always hits his target. Regardless of weapon. He could be aiming a slingshot and he's still hit who he wanted to.

 

The remaining two men, however, jump back in the van (which happened to be holding the hostage they were trying to save) and peel off down the alley they were in, leaving the dead men behind.

 

“Come on!” Phil shouts, and he and Clint take off running after the van, which can’t move terribly quickly in the narrow alley.

 

But then the back doors open and one of the two men throws something out the back. It only takes Phil one second to recognize it, and he grabs Clint hard on the wrist. In fact, so hard, it actually hurts and Clint wonders for a moment if his arm isn’t broken.

 

“GET BACK!” Phil shouts.

 

But it’s too late. The case has a bomb in it, and as soon as it hits the alley floor, it explodes in a shower of shrapnel. Phil throws his body in front of Clint, who can only cry out as he’s shielded from the blast by the taller man’s body.

 

The blast dies down and Clint pulls away, still holding onto Phil. His heart is beating a million miles a minute and he can taste bile. He's sure Phil is dead. Or if he's not yet he's going to be soon. The thought scares Clint more than any other, more than any of his nightmares even. He lowers Phil gently, facing the ground so he can inspect the wounds to his back.  
  
To his surprise there are none. Phil's jacket is burned and pockmarked but there's no blood. No shrapnel or even any cuts. It's as if nothing touched him. But that isn't possible. They were too close to the blast.  
  
He lets Phil sit back up and just stares at him in a daze. It shouldn't be possible. Any normal person would have sustained at least minor wounds, if they weren't dead. He himself would have been if not for Phil.   
  
"How are you alive?" he asks in a shocked whisper.

 

“Wow, that was hot,” Phil says nonchalantly as he twists his head around to look at the back of his jacket, which nearly has a hole burned through it. “That was a close one, eh? Let’s keep going, we don’t want to lose them.”

 

"Phil." Clint says carefully, not making any move to get going. "You aren't hurt. How aren't you hurt?"

 

“I don’t know, I guess we weren’t as close to the bomb as I thought we were, we’re going to lose the hostage if we just stand here, let’s _go!_ I’ll go to medical later!” he tugs on Clint’s hand and they start running again, turning the corner the van did at the end of the alley.

 

They catch the van thanks to a few carefully aimed bullets in the tires. They grab the hostage and manage to arrest the two kidnappers. They hand them off to junior agents and then Clint practically carries Phil back to medical to be checked out. But just as he'd seen they declare him completely fit except for a scrape on his knee from hitting the ground too fast.  
  
"That's not possible." Clint mutters, mostly to himself.

 

“Someone’s not telling the whole story here,” the nurse shrugs with a sigh. “If you were as close to the explosion as you claim, Agent Coulson would have third degree burns, if he were even alive. But Coulson doesn’t have so much as a scratch, so…”

 

“We were running top speed,” Phil says as he shrugs his wrecked shirt back onto his shoulders, not willing to go all the way home half naked. “I must have misjudged how close we were to the van, that’s all. I acted on instinct, without properly taking into account how far away we were from the van, and the bomb. How else can you explain how I got away without a scratch?”

 

Clint is still watching Phil with an odd expression, caught somewhere between awed and confused. He stands and goes to Phil's side, taking his lover's hand, ignoring the pain in his arm.

 

"Can we have a moment?" He asks the nurse who shrugs and leaves without any fuss.

 

"Clint?" Phil asks but the archer just shakes his head.

 

"Don't say anything yet. I'm still thinking." He replies quietly. What Phil had said about acting on instinct is still rolling around in his head, muddying up his thoughts. But that's as much a part of the question as any so her takes a deep breath and just let's the words go.

 

"You saved me." He starts bluntly. "You could have been killed but you shielded me. You didn't even think about it, just did it. Like it didn't matter that you were putting me first rather than yourself. And I just have to know if that meant something or if you were just being a hero."

 

“I’m not secret service, Clint,” Phil says, taking both of Clint’s hands. “Do you think I’d just throw myself in front of anyone?”

 

Clint shakes his head and smiles a little. He's starting to tear up and gives Phil's hands a small squeeze. "Is it alright if I say I love you, sir?" He asks quietly.

 

Phil brings Clint closer so he can wrap his arms around the young man’s shoulders and hold him there, chest-to chest. He kisses Clint’s forehead, his cheekbones, all the while trying not to cry.

 

“It’s been two years, with hardly a hitch,” he whispers. “Permission granted.”

 

Clint grins and leans in to capture Phil's lips for a moment. The kiss is sweet and quick and when he pulls back he only goes far enough to lean his head on Phil's shoulder.

 

"I love you." He says, more earnestly than he's ever said anything before. He kisses Phil's jaw and then stands up, a few tears rolling down his cheeks. "And I'll tell you again once I'm back from having my arm X-rayed. I'll expect a reply then sir."

 

Phil watches the man saunter off, a mixture of hope and fear, and he can feel the tiniest of cracks form in his heart, where he knows it will inevitably break.


	3. Chapter 3

The third time really freaks Clint out, but Phil doesn’t ever lie to him.

 

Five years together, neither of them can even believe it. It’s been this horrible mixture of an impossibly long time and no time at all, they don’t know where it all went. While Phil has undergone no real visible changes (other than maybe he’s a little bit more muscular because he’s been working out to impress Clint) Clint himself has become more cut, more angular, and he cut his shaggy hair very short.

 

He nearly choked on his spit when Phil proposed. They’d been on an op in Venice, and they finished early, so they decided to take a picnic up to a rooftop and look at the stars. Phil produced a ring. Clint cried.

 

They technically should have hired someone to put together the reception hall _for_ them, but they didn’t have to take eleven hours to get dressed for the wedding like a new bride does, so they decide to cut it a little closer and help the few SHIELD agents who are there. Of course, they aren’t there _yet_ , but Phil has always been an overachiever.

 

Natasha is there, decked out in a form-fitting tuxedo (she’s Clint’s Best Man) and high heels. She ditched the heels for the time being to help set up decorations on the wall. Their wedding isn’t too extravagant, or very large for that matter. Only about fifty people are coming, every one of them SHIELD agents, if you exclude Phil’s parents. And every single agent has had personal instructions not to mention a whisper of their activity around Phil’s parents, who are to remain blissfully unaware of what their son does for a living.

 

Mom hadn’t been surprised when Phil took her the news that he had found a husband. (“I’ve known since you were two years old, dear. I knew all that straight business was just a phase.”)

Dad was a little bit more surprised, but supportive.

(“What happened to that nice girl, Jessica?” “I broke up with her six years ago, dad.”)

 

Clint was wearing a white suit with lace around the cuffs and down the collar, and he’d even agreed to wear white high heels, which as it turns out, Phil likes the sight of a lot more than he thought he would. Phil is wearing a black tux with coat tails and a bow tie and a silk cummerbund. However, all of the trimmings are off on a table for the time being, and his sleeves are rolled up, because he’s looking at the place the deliverymen dropped off their ice sculpture _outside_ the reception hall. Granted, it is the dead of December, so it’s not about to melt, but it needs to be _inside_ the hall, on the cooling table.

 

Rubbing his temples with a groan, he stoops down (with his knees, not his waist, like you’re taught) and feels for how cold the ice is. It’s manageable. Stuffing his hands in the snow for a while to cool them off so he doesn’t melt the ice, he picks up the sculpture. It’s in the shape of an eagle. It’s mostly an inside joke for all the SHIELD agents, but it’s also meant to look nice for his not often easily impressed parents. He picks it up at what seems like the safest place to hold it, and hoists it up. It’s a lot heavier than he expected it to be, but it’s not unmanageable. He moves hastily into the hall.

 

Clint is directing where tables and chairs need to be, how to arrange the centerpieces and all the other little details inside the hall. His sharp eyes won't allow for a single ribbon out of place. Everything is very hectic because they only have two hours left before they have to get to the ceremony and nothing is in place yet. He's even beginning to curse Natasha who, as lovely as she is, doesn't seem to really care about anything except what food is going to available after the ceremony.  
  
He turns to find Phil, needing his husband for a moment of moral support and catches sight of him, carrying the massive sculpture into the hall all by himself.   
  
Dropping everything he runs over to the older agent to offer his help but is surprised to find that Phil doesn't seem to be having any trouble. The sculpture is obviously heavy and he's moving slowly but he doesn't have to stop to rest his arms and he doesn't seem in need of help at all.  
  
"Hey Superman, I know you've been working out but that thing must weigh a ton." he says with obvious confusion as Phil lifts it onto the cooling table.

 

“It’s actually not that bad,” Phil shrugs as he slips it onto the table and adjusts it so it’s facing the tables. “Must be hollow or something, I don’t know. It’s really not that heavy. But there is something you can help me with actually.”

 

He turns to the other man with a gentle smile before yanking him close and untucking his shirt in one deft move so he can put both of his icy hands on Clint’s back.

 

"Fuck!" Clint curses, jumping away. He scowls at his soon-to-be husband and hurriedly tucks his shirt back in but it's clearly going to need to be ironed again. "You can warm your own hands, your species is warm blooded." he teases. "Be careful or I'll pull that crap about the groom not seeing the bride before the wedding and let you finish all of this yourself."

 

Phil smirks and watches Clint saunter off on his lacey white heels. He definitely likes the way he has to clench his ass to keep steady on them.

 

In the next few minutes however, the six agents that were supposed to arrive to help did arrive, explaining there was an emergency on the highway where one of the carpools skidded off the road, and the other had to double  back to pick them up, which resulted in a lot of grown men sitting on one anothers’ laps. The men looked so miserable and freezing that Phil and Clint couldn’t even bring themselves to be upset they were late, gave them all little cups of coffee, and set them to work.

 

The hall was set up in due time, and they hurried to the other half of the hotel, where the actual ceremony was taking place. Phil suddenly produced a veil he’d been saving for the last minute. It was simple, attached to a tiny white top hat.

 

“I have to lift the veil to kiss my bride,” he explains, affixing the top hat to Clint’s hair with tiny clips. “It’s tradition.”

 

He wants to kiss Clint now so badly, but he knows he has to wait. It’ll make the kiss at the altar that much more special. He lets his hand linger on Clint’s hands before finally heading through the doors to take his place at the front of the hall. Everyone is seated excitedly, and Phil’s mom is already weeping into a handkerchief, sitting at the very front. She had a lot of questions about why none of Clint’s family was there, so Phil made up a story about a housefire and told her never ever to bring up family around him.

 

He grins over at Natasha, who gives him a small smile in return, and a nod of her head.

 

Meanwhile, outside the doors, Fury suddenly approaches Clint. He’d never seen the intimidating man in anything but leather, so to see him in a suit was rather funny.

 

“First of all,” Fury scolds, and reaches for the bouquet of arrows Clint had created. “Give me that. You are not bringing weapons into that room. Take this.” He shoves a bouquet of red roses and white forget-me-nots into his hands instead. “Remember, Coulson’s parents?”

 

Clint grins. He'd known he would never get through the door with his homemade bouquet but it had been worth a shot. He gracefully concedes and accepts the new bouquet from his boss.  
  
"Thanks sir. You heading in? I’m sure Phil has a spot reserved for you in the front row."

 

“He does,” Fury gives the archer a rare smile. “But I’m not going in _just_ yet.”

 

Phil was afraid that if they played the traditional Bridal March that it would seem silly and overplayed. But now that it’s started playing, he feels his heart start to flutter with pride and excitement and joy and all his hopes for the future seem to be coming together at last.

 

And then the doors open and Phil actually has to try not to snort out loud. Clint is coming in, arm-in-arm with Fury. Phil’s parents turn around and they’re a little alarmed to see their son-in-law come walking in on the arm of a giant black man wearing an eyepatch, but Clint is glowing so it doesn’t really matter.

 

Fury had wanted to actually do the ceremony (apparently he has those rights) but Phil politely refused, saying he’d rather have a priest. He didn’t say that the real reason was because he didn’t want Fury to be able to dangle his and Clint’s wedding over their heads for years to come. But he should have known he’d find _some_ way to weasel himself into the main event.

 

“Take care of each other,” Fury said with a solemn nod as he passed Clint’s arm to Phil.

 

Clint smiles and nods before joining Phil at the altar. They join hands and he can feel his eyes already starting to water. His knees are shaking and if anyone can tell he'll blame it on the shoes when really he's just terrified that at any moment he's going to wake up.

 

The ceremony goes without a hitch, and when Phil lifts the veil from Clint’s face and gives him a kiss, he feels the entire world melt away. He hears his mother burst into tears of joy as he holds Clint close around the waist and they kiss.

 

They move into the reception hall, and Clint is surprised by one other thing he had no idea was planned. Near the back wall (with dartboard behind it) was a ring in the shape of a heart on a pedestal. Phil hands Clint a traditional wood-and-string bow and a single arrow with a flaming tip, while everyone takes their seats.

 

“Is this safe?” Phil hears his mother whisper, and he gives her a reassuring smile.

 

“Go on, babe. Light my fire,” he whispers cheekily in Clint’s ear.

 

Clint smirks and notches the arrow. Then, just to scare Phil's mother a little more, he closes his eyes, spins around once and takes aim. The arrow flies and the heart flames. Clint opens his eyes and smiles, leaning against his new husband.  
  
After that are the toasts, one from Phil's father, one from Fury and one from Natasha who does mention a mission but does so in Russian so only a handful of people understand. There's food and cake and dancing. Natasha steals the bouquet and burns it, knowing Clint will aim it at her but other than that the night is perfect.

 

Clint chats away with Phil’s mother so that by the end of the night she knows everything about him from his favorite color to whether he wears boxers or briefs. Phil’s father keeps mentioning that he’s glad his son picked a man as strong and talented as Clint, and they both insist that Clint call them Mom and Dad. He nearly cries when they tell him this, and agrees.

 

Sometime around ten, when the reception was finally coming to a close (or at least, it was getting to the point where Clint and Phil desperately wanted to rip each others clothing off) some agent that Clint had invited got a little bit too drunk and tipped into the cooling table.

 

The eagle ice sculpture slid off the table and landed hard on the ground, and shattered. It landed so hard, in fact, that it _cracked_ the temporary wooden dance floor that had been laid down over the carpet of the hotel ballroom.

 

Clint's on his feet in a second. He approaches the broken sculpture, asking everyone close to it if they're alright before kneeling down and inspecting the broken floor. The wood is solid even if it's not very thick and it would have taken a great deal of force to crack it. Much more than a hollow ice sculpture could produce.   
  
His eyes flick up to Phil and he quirks an eyebrow in question though his mouth is set in a grim line. "Not that heavy? Really Phil?"

 

Phil shrugs. “It wasn’t,” he says noncommittally as a few people start to pick up the bigger ice chunks and toss them into the ice tray beneath the fruit and vegetable table.

 

Clint shakes his head and stands up, rejoining him at the table. "You don't need to show off for me you know. I can see how much you've been working out, you don't need to prove it."  
  
In the back of his mind though something still doesn't sit right. That sculpture would have been too heavy for anyone except maybe Captain America. And Phil is just a normal guy. At least, he's always seemed like a normal guy.

 

“I think I do need to prove it though,” Phil says, pulling Clint to a stand and holding him close so he can whisper in his ear. “Tonight I’m going to lift you up and fuck you against a wall just so you know how _strong_ I’ve gotten. Then I’ll take you to the bed and make love to you, so you can _see_ it.”

 

"Fuck." Clint groans. He pushes Phil away with a teasing smile and sits back down so no one can see his sudden erection. "Jerk. There's still two hours left to the party."

 

Phil smirks after the man. Crisis averted.


	4. Chapter 4

The fourth time happens in New Mexico. It's two years after the wedding and Clint couldn't be happier. In general. At this precise moment he's terribly bored. Phil's left the base to go check out some strange cloud anomaly in the desert, leaving him to guard what Clint has decided is Excalibur's brawnier cousin. Without Phil to give him orders he has nothing to do but flip through the comm channels, hoping someone will say something interesting. Once he caught one of the agents singing some Brittany Spears song to himself and another asking his buddy to make him a sandwich but other than that nothing.  
  
He's starting to consider sneaking out to go to town to catch a movie or something when a voice breaks the radio silence. The agent is frantic, in pain and terrified as he screams into the comm.  
  
 _"This is Agent Kappel. Squadron 03294 has been attacked! I repeat, we have been attacked! At least_ _seven men are dead! More are hurt!_ _Send help!_ "   
  
Clint's instantly on the alert. That's the squad Phil took out with him earlier. Seven men are dead and more injured from Phil's squad and Phil isn't calling for help which means he could be hurt. Or worse.  
  
The archer has his things and one of their jeeps in a matter of seconds. Ignoring the protesting agents behind him he tears off into the desert towards where the anomaly was just seconds before, praying to whoever can hear that his husband is still alive.

 

He gets there in time to see some sort of massive metal man leaving in the distance. Several cars are overturned and burning, and from where he is he can see at least three dead bodies on the ground, charred beyond recognition. A lump is forming in his throat but he refuses to cry until he knows for sure that Phil is – he refuses to think about it.

 

There are several jeeps after him, men jumping out and rushing into the scene, ignoring Clint as he tears through the wreckage, eyes desperately scanning for his husband, or at least a mildly recognizable burnt body.

 

His stomach drops as man after man is recovered from the wreckage, and bodies are hauled away, but no sign of Phil. He’s about to start sobbing when he hears someone call in the background, “There’s another one over here!”

 

Clint charges to the man, and what he sees makes his stomach drop. Phil is lying on his back, unconscious, his head turned to the side to reveal burns so bad, Clint can just _smell_ them from fifteen feet away. Charred nearly black across his shoulder, clothes burned away down his arm, across his chest and up his neck, creeping onto his jaw. He’s a mess of blood and burnt flesh and shredded clothing, some of which appears to have been melted right onto his body.

 

Clint sinks down to his knees, surely Phil is dead. Those burns are at least third degree. All the times he’s thought Phil was some kind of superhuman flash through his head, now that he sees him like this.

 

There’s a little bit of trouble as the agents try to figure out how to tell if he’s alive. They can’t turn his head towards the burns, and they can’t very well feel for a pulse _through_ the burns, so they take his wrist. Clint holds his breath.

 

“This man is still alive! Get a stretcher!”

 

Clint breaths and slumps to the ground while they grab a stretcher for him. They load him on and when they try to bring him to the car he springs to action, insisting on going with him. He holds Phil's hand all the way to base where he's rushed to medical. Clint is locked out while they run tests and load Phil up with painkillers but he demands regular updates and he gets them.  
  
After an hour he is told that he can go in and see him. They don't know when Phil will wake up but Clint can go sit with him. So Clint goes into the room and his breath leaves him again. Phil is hooked up to five machines, with needles in his arms and bandages covering the burns. He looks so pale and fragile.   
  
"The burns will never fully heal." the doctor tells him. "And he'll never be able to use that arm as well as before. Would you like to tell him or shall I?"  
  
"I'll do it." Clint tells her, taking the seat beside Phil and taking his husbands hand. "It'll be better if he hears it from me."

 

She nods and leaves the room. Clint breaks down in tears as soon as the door closes behind her. He cries and cries until his eyes hurt and his throat hurts and his lungs hurt. He cries his eyes dry but keeps sobbing on.

 

Finally it seems all the cry is gone from him and he just watches Phil sleep. He has a respirator in his nose, and he’s breathing so shallowly Clint can’t even see his chest move. The only thing keeping him from an all-out panic attack is the steady blip of Phil’s heart monitor.

 

Hours later, when Clint is nodding off in his chair, still holding Phil’s hand, he feels the older man’s fingers move. Snapping awake, he watches as Phil’s blue eyes open wearily.

 

Clint stands up and kisses Phil on the cheeks and then his forehead, avoiding his lips so Phil can breathe. He squeezes his hand and a few of his tears drip down onto Phil's cheeks.  
  
"You idiot. You nearly gave me a heart attack!" he chides, voice hoarse from crying for so long. "Thank god you're alive."

 

Phil looks down at his body, his eyes slipping downwards because his neck feels too stiff to move. His brow furrows and he groans weakly. “Missing some parts, it looks like,” he says, his voice thick with pain and drugs.

 

Clint nods and sits back down. He wipes his eyes and sniffs a few times to get himself under control. "You have third degree burns. And the doctor says you won't be able to use your arm as well as before. I'm so sorry Phil."

 

Phil blinks drowsily upwards at the ceiling. “Oh,” he says, voice hoarse.

 

Clint blinks, a bit taken aback. He expected a bit more than that in reaction. But he supposes the information hasn't really sunk in yet. Phil is too hopped up on painkillers to really register anything.  
  
"You'll be able to keep your job." Clint assures him, hoping that will help when it eventually hits him. He hands him a glass of water and holds it so Phil can drink. "SHIELD won't get rid of you because of something like this."

 

“That’s good to know,” Phil’s voice sounds a little clearer, and his eyes look a little more lucid. He tries to look down, but hisses at the movement in his neck. “How extensive are they?”

 

"The side of your neck, a bit of your jaw, your shoulder and half your arm. It could have been a lot worse. Eight men are dead. And Boden is going to lose her leg." he adds. He'd overheard the doctors talking in the hall earlier. It was too bad. Boden was a good agent. Clint isn't sure which of Phil's agents are dead but he's sure there's plenty of good men among them too. There will be a service for them before too long.

 

“Shit,” Phil groans and lifts his good hand to rub at the part of his face that isn’t burned or singed. “I meant… I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. I thought it was Stark, shit. And then that helmet opened up and it shot fire at us – _shit_.”

 

"It's not your fault." Clint assures him. "There's not reason for you to feel bad. We had no idea what we were dealing with. You need to focus on getting better, alright? Promise me?"

 

There’s tears in Phil’s eyes, and Clint knows he feels guilty. “That’s eight men dead because I just _walked up to the thing_. I _led_ everyone there, I led them to their deaths. It was ten feet tall and made of metal, I shouldn’t have – fuck!”

 

"Phil. With the kind of things we've had to deal with lately there was nothing else you could have done. You didn't know what was going to happen." Clint presses. If Phil doesn't let it go he's going to get himself worked up and hurt himself more. And Clint won't allow that. "There's someone out there who's to blame, sure. We don't know who that is but it isn't you."

 

 “When I figure out who sent that thing, I swear I’ll personally put my fist down their throat,” Phil growls, but loses his anger after a second in favor of grief. “Some of those men have children, god _dammit_.”

 

"And those kids will know that their fathers died heroes. There will be a service for them and there families will get the life insurance money. It won't replace them but it's something." Clint says, trying to soothe him a little. "And when we find out who did this we'll make them pay. For what they did to our friends and what they did to you."

 

“Tell me, what’s heroic about being vaporized in .5 seconds by a ten-foot metal man with a laser for a face?” Phil grunts.

 

“They didn’t run away.”

 

Phil looks up again with a sad sort of smile. “Yeah, alright,” he mutters when Clint smiles back. “Don’t get all smug about it. So how long until I’m out of this bed?”

 

"The doctors are going to run more tests, see about skin grafts and things like that. You'll be here for a few days at least." Clint shrugs. Then he turns stern, staring down his handler. "And you're going to do what they say. You have a family to think of too. I know it's just me but I can't lose you. So I'm ordering you to let the doctors do their job."

 

Phil rolls his eyes. “Fine, alright, I’ll listen,” he mutters. Clint knows how he hates doctors, always thinking they know better than everyone just because they have a degree. Phil could have gotten a degree (he would have been a lawyer) if SHIELD hadn’t picked him up for the way he could shoot a gun, among other reasons.

 

Clint ducks his head shyly, face heating up. "Our family doesn't just have to be the two of us you know. Especially if you're not going to be going out on dangerous missions anymore."

 

Phil turns his head despite the pain in his neck, and he thinks he can feel a scab pop, but he doesn’t care. “Are you – do you mean you want to have kids?” he asks, startled. He knows that Clint never had a good parental relationship, or any strong parental figures for that matter, so he always assumed that he would be afraid of being a terrible parent.

 

Clint shrugs, a little heartbroken but trying to cover it. He had thought Phil might be interested in having a real family. But he doesn't really blame him for being skeptical. "I like kids. The little ones in the orphanage weren't so bad. I mean I never really considered it before you. But you keep me stable and you can more than make up for all my fuck ups. But if you don't want to that's fine. It was just a thought."

 

“No, no – ” he takes Clint’s hand with his good arm and looks him in the eye. “I want – I mean to say, I would like… I want to have a child with you.” He decides that the best way to go about it is to be as straightforward as possible.

 

Clint instantly brightens, smiling broadly at Phil. "Yeah? Maybe we can start looking into adoption agencies when you get out."

 

“You think I should go walking into an orphanage with my face all burnt up?” Phil smirks on the side of his face that isn’t heat-burned. “Pretty sure I’d scare the kids away.”

 

"You're face is only a little burned. And we won't be meeting kids yet. That takes a while. First there are interviews and home visits and background checks." Clint explains. He learned about this a long time ago when he and Barney had been terrified of getting adopted. "It takes a while. We'd just start talking to people about it. And if we adopt a baby it won't matter."

 

Phil smiles. “Alright. Let’s look into it.”

 

He’s out of the bed within a few days. Clint gets regular updates, and Phil is given a very strong medicated ointment that Clint is supposed to gently administer to the burns. He’s also not supposed to bathe or shower, but give himself sponge-baths, which doesn’t sound fun at all.

 

It’s a week before the scabs finally seem to settle down into scar tissue. Which is actually not very long at all, and the doctors comment that he’s healing incredibly nicely.

 

Phil has another discussion with Thor, but he seems content to leave the fighting alien things up to him this time. Thor assures him he will “avenge Coulson’s flesh” and he’s off.

 

When things are finally wrapped up with Thor, and he returns home, Phil is able to use his arm again. Not completely, like the doctors said, his joints are a little stiff and the skin is still tender to the touch, but he’s healing very nicely. Not only nicely, but _quickly_.

 

Clint's surprised and amazed by how fast Phil is healing. Phil's always been healthy and Clint has teased him a few times about how hard it is to leave a decent hickey on him because bruises never last long. But this isn't like that or a cold that goes away after only a day. This is supposed to be permanent damage that would take months to reach this level of healed. The way he's healing isn't right. It's not natural.  
  
But Clint is happy for it and keeps his thoughts to himself. There has to be a reasonable explanation for it. Something special in the ointment to speed along healing. Whatever it is, he's thankful so he's not going to say anything.

 

Within four months Phil can move his arm just the same as before. The doctors are baffled, and declare it a medical miracle. He and Clint create fake backgrounds that the adoption agencies look at. Phil is an employee at Stark industries and Clint is a physical therapy teacher, both with amazing salaries.

 

In six months, all that’s left of the burns are a few areas in which the skin is pinched on his chest and shoulder. Medically, he should just be getting proper (limited) movement back in his arm, and the doctors still can’t explain it.

 

“Best not to ask questions, I suppose,” Phil shrugs as Clint is looking him over to rub the ointment in with a shocked expression.

 

"They update your model, sir?" Clint laughs. He teases Phil about the robot rumors a lot. Being able to make light of them helps Phil ignore it when the junior agents start whispering behind his back. But maybe the rumors aren't as stupid as they seem. Maybe there really is something weird about Phil.  
  
Clint shakes the thought out of his head and goes back to applying the ointment. That's absurd. Medical miracles happen. And Phil's always been lucky.

 

“Shit head,” Phil smiles playfully. In all the time he’s been injured they haven’t done much else except for the few times Clint conceded and gave Phil head, and he’s _aching_ to touch Clint all over. But Clint doesn’t want to “strain” him. He reaches over to pinch Clint’ ass while he’s standing applying the lotion to his sitting husband, and he gets a flinch and a yelp out of him.

 

"Keep it up and I'll jerk off and make you watch." Clint threatens, turning to fake glare at his husband. "I'll wear heels too. Those new gold ones. And you won't be allowed to touch. Don't think I won't."

 

“You do that and I’ll jump you, don’t think _I_ won’t,” Phil wets his lower lip thinking about it. “Come on, there’s nothing left to tear or rupture. If I don’t make love to you soon I’m going to totally lose it. _Six months_ , Clint, how have _you_ survived?”

 

"I masturbate and I blow you." Clint replies. He leaves Phil for a moment to go put the ointment away. Then he comes back and settles on the couch on top of Phil, being careful of his bad shoulder. "That's enough if it keeps you from hurting I can live with it."

 

“Clint, _I’m not hurt_ , alright? I’m healed! I don’t know how it happened, and I don’t really want to question whatever god or angel has lowered its healing hand to me, but you have to realize that I’m not hurting anymore. I’m not in pain! You’re depriving the both of us because you seem to think I should still be recovering, but I’m _not_.”

 

Clint sits up, brows drawn together. "You don't think that Thor guy had anything to do with it do you? I mean he was doing magic and shit. Maybe someone from wherever the hell he came from healed you."

 

“That’s a very real possibility,” Phil nods. “This healing rate is definitely otherworldly. It’s the only viable explanation I’ve thought of so far. So can you agree that I’m healed and let me make love to you on this couch until you’re crying?”

 

"After dinner." Clint agrees, settling down with a smile. Magic. The guy had promised to make things right. It was nothing to worry about. Phil is still just Phil, just like he's supposed to be. And that's exactly how Clint wants him.

 

“Not after dinner,” Phil suddenly seizes Clint around the waist, hard, with both arms. “I won’t last. I’ll drop dead in the middle of eating. My balls will explode.”

 

“Phil,” Clint reprimands.

 

“Don’t _Phil_ me, agent,” he growls, and suddenly stands up off the couch. Clint is so startled that he flings his arms and legs around the man’s waist and shoulders, without thinking.

 

“Phil! You’re going to hurt yourself!” he protests as he’s carried to the bedroom.

 

“If I was going to hurt myself it would have happened already,” Phil says as he tosses Clint down onto the bed. “I’m fine.” He strips his shirt off and flexes his healed arm to prove it.

 

"I still haven't figured out how you carry me." Clint rolls his eyes. "I've got at least seventy pounds of muscle on you." Phil growls and practically rips Clint's shirt off, making the archer laugh. "I got it. I'll shut up. Come on baby, let's see what you got."


	5. Chapter 5

The fifth time is on the Helicarrier. Clint comes to, head spinning, stomach churning. He's sweating and he's strapped to a chair. His heart is pounding out of his chest and he thinks it might explode. He sees Natasha and then he doesn't. He's going to be sick. But he isn't and slowly the ringing in his ears dies down enough for him to hear her. He asks about why he's back and tells her about being unmade. He can feel the lump on his head from where she knocked him out. She had to because he tried to kill her.  
  
He tried to kill all of them. He was happy to for Loki. He feels sick again. She let's him out of the bindings and he stumbles to the bathroom, the floor tipping forwards and back and side to side before he reaches the toilet and empties the meager contents of his stomach into the bowl. Natasha gives him water and he drinks it, then throws it back up. He gives up on drinking and goes to the sink to splash water on his face.  
  
When he comes back out into the room where he came to Fury is there and Clint's heart starts beating so fast it's painful. That look on Fury's face isn't one he's seen before. It's sad and angry and pained and just knowing it's his fault without even knowing what he's done makes him want to throw himself out the nearest window.  
  
"Who?" he asks quietly, voice hoarse.

 

“Agent Romanoff, I’d like to speak to Agent Barton alone,” Fury says, voice low.

 

“Please, director, it wasn’t his fault – ” Natasha begins to protest. Clint is the only person she would ever disobey orders for.

 

“It’s nothing like that,” Fury says, casting her a look from the corner of his eye. “He isn’t in trouble.”

 

Natasha looks between Fury and Clint a few times before bowing her head and leaving the room to anxiously wait in the hall.

 

"It's Phil isn't it?" Clint asks. He knows that's the only reason Fury would want to speak to him alone unless he was firing him. The sick feeling is back and the room starts to spin so he lowers himself back down onto his chair. He drops his head, staring at the ground. His heart isn't pounding out of his chest anymore. He's not even sure it's still beating. "Did I kill him sir?”

 

“No,” Fury chooses his words carefully before proceeding. “It was Loki. He stabbed him through the lung. He’s not dead. He’s in critical condition. I… bent the truth, however, to spur the others into action, so if you could avoid telling them that he isn’t dead until after the threat is neutralized, that would be appreciated.”

 

Clint breathes a sigh of relief. Phil isn't dead. He didn't hurt him. He's hurt but he'll be okay. It's a weight off his shoulders. He still feels sick because it was all his fault but at least Phil is alive.   
  
"When do I get to see him?" he asks. Then adds sadly, "Do I get to see him? Or am I under arrest?"

 

“Arresting you for something out of your control doesn’t seem like the right course of action,” Fury says, clasping his hands behind his back. “I suspect the remaining members of the Avengers Initiative will want to make a move soon, however, so I suggest you get your act together and go with them. You may even get the opportunity to put an arrow in Loki’s eye socket. If you get such an opportunity, I would be loathe if you did not take it.” He starts to leave the room, but pauses at the door before opening it. “Remember. Do not tell anyone he is alive.”

 

"Sir!" Clint calls, stopping Fury before he leaves. "Will I be able to see him? When we're done?"

 

Fury simply nods as the door opens, and Natasha comes rushing past him to kneel in front of Clint, taking the arm rests in her hands.

 

“Are you okay? What was that about?” she asks firmly, trying to assess Clint’s mental state.

 

Clint shakes his head. He won't lie to Natasha but he can't tell her the truth either. If she hears that Phil is dead from the others she can draw her own conclusions as to what that headshake means. He gets up and goes back to the bathroom, starting to dry heave into the toilet again. Loki is out of his system but the effects are lingering.  
  
He finished and takes a quick shower, is out and dressed by the time Steve comes to get them. He's more collected then but quiet. As they pass through the Helicarrier he can see the damage he's caused and his stomach rolls but he isn't sick again.

 

Unfortunately, he never does get the opportunity to kill Loki. As much as he would have liked to release that arrow pointed at the trickster’s head when they all loomed over him at the end of their battle, Thor was standing right there and he knew he would never allow such a thing.

 

They split up from there, and he wastes no time in asking for a pickup back to the hellicarrier. The whole fly back up, his leg bounces. Natasha is beside him, trying to soothe him, but she still doesn’t know what’s wrong and she’s too afraid to make assumptions. The only thing that Clint ever gets this upset over is Coulson.

 

Clint practically runs to medical, and it’s worse than the last time he saw Phil lying there with the burns. He’s got a thick tube down his throat, hooked up to a massive machine that was clearly pumping oxygen in and out of his body for him. The rise and fall of his chest is mechanical, and accompanied by whirring clicks. He’s wearing no shirt at all, and there’s another tube running out of an incision below a nasty, long set of stitches in his chest, pumping blood out of his body.

 

He feels weak and he clutches the doorway. Phil is pale as death, nearly the color of the white sheets he’s lying on.

 

Clint stumbles into the room and falls to his knees beside Phil's bed. He's crying, choking on his own sobs because he's crying so hard he can't breathe. The room is a blur of color and he can't even hear the beep of the monitor telling him Phil is alive. If anyone were to see him like this he'd kill them but he could never control himself when it came to Phil. And this time it's so much worse because it's his fault. Phil wouldn't be like this if it weren't for him.  
  
"I'm sorry Phil." he gasps, still crying into his hands.   
  
He stays like that for hours. Eventually he runs out of tears like the last time and his throat is so dry he can't make any noise but he's still crying. His body shakes instead and the nurses who come in to check on Phil consider sedating him. They don't, and they don't say anything and he doesn't move. He just sits and shakes and cries, waiting for Phil to wake up.

 

“He’s not doing good.”

 

Fury’s voice startles Clint, who finally gets up off his aching knees to sit wearily in a chair.

 

“I’ve never seen him like this,” Fury says, hands clasped behind his back as always. “He’s always been so untouchable. Even the burns a few years back, that seems like nothing compared to this. Doctors say they don’t know if he’s even going to wake up.”

 

"I'm going to wait." Clint replies hoarsely. His throat is dry and sore but he doesn't reach for the water sitting nearby. That's Phil's water. He'll want it when he wakes up.

 

“You’re just going to sit here for days? Possibly weeks?” Fury says, and Clint just looks up at him. “Right. Alright. I’ll have the doctors put in a second cot for you. Because you _will_ be sleeping. I won’t order you back to the barracks. I’ll have medical bring you meals.” He sweeps out of the room before Clint can even thank him, his coat billowing out behind him. All that’s left in the room is the whirring clicks of Phil’s mechanical lung and the shallow blips of his heart monitor.

 

Clint pulls his legs up onto the chair and stays there, sharp eyes never leaving Phil. He stays awake for five days, barely touching the food that's brought to him. It's only at Fury's threats of sedation that he finally lays down on the spare cot. He wants to reach out and take Phil's hand but he doesn't. He pushes the cot a little farther away from Phil's bed and lays on his side to watch him until he drifts off. He doesn't know how Phil is going to react when he wakes up but he isn't going to touch him again until he has permission. He doesn't have that right anymore.

 

It’s thirteen days before Phil finally opens his eyes, and he immediately starts to choke on the tube in his throat, his heart monitor goes haywire. Clint screams for help, and nurses rush in to gently sedate Phil, just to make him relax rather than fall back to sleep.

 

They check a few things silently before finally decide he’ll be able to breathe on his own and gently slip the tube from his body. Clint feels sick as he watches nearly two feet of tube slide out of Phil’s throat.

 

Phil wants to cough, but his chest aches. The last time he felt this terrible was Thor’s fault, he guesses now it was Loki’s turn. He groans and looks around, he knows Clint will be there. As soon as he sees the man he reaches desperately for his hand.

 

Clint grabs it immediately, clinging to his hand like a life line. Like he'll never let go. "I'm here Phil." he whispers, the tears coming back full force. "I'm here, I promise. I won't leave."

 

Phil simply chokes and gasps for a few moments, trying to get himself under control. Clint helps him drink, and he seems to calm for a bit.

 

“What happened?” he groans hoarsely, fingering the tube leading directly from a cavity in his chest with his free hand, the one that isn’t holding tightly onto Clint’s. He wracks his foggy brain before dropping his head and his hand again. “Oh… Loki,” he wheezes. “These brothers have it out for me.”

 

"I'm so sorry Phil." Clint chokes out. He's holding Phil's hand so hard it has to hurt but Phil hasn't asked him to loosen his grip. So he won't. He won't give up any connection until he absolutely has to. "I'm so fucking sorry. This is all my fault."

 

“How – ” Phil coughs shallowly. “Loki stabbed me, not you. It isn’t your fault.”

 

"I got him here. I helped him break out. It was all planned. Everything. Even killing you." Clint answers shakily. The sick feeling is back, accompanied by a pounding in his ears and the sudden sensation that there isn't enough air. He hasn't admitted this part to anyone. He didn't tell them that Loki had targeted Coulson.

 

Phil is quiet for a long time as he looks at the ceiling. “Remember when I led all those men to their deaths a few years back, with The Destroyer?”

 

“This is different – ”

 

“Do you remember?”

 

Clint swallows. “I remember.”

 

“This isn’t different. You were under Loki’s control. It doesn’t matter what you did, because it wasn’t _you_. You never would have let Loki in here, you never would have led him to me, you never would have let him try to kill me. Just like I never would have taken those men out in New Mexico had I known they were all going to die. This is exactly the same thing. And if you tell me one more time that you think you’re the one who caused this wound in my chest, so help me I will ground you. I won’t hear another word of it, do you understand me agent?”

 

Clint nods. He doesn't really believe it but he nods. It's what Phil wants so he'll go along with it.   
  
"He targeted you sir. Said he was going to stab you through the heart if he could." he says quietly. "Good thing he missed, huh?"

 

“Very good,” Phil swallows hard. “Why was he targeting me?”

 

"Loki picked his favorites. Those of us he would keep when he successfully ruled us all. Most he was going to kill off when they weren't useful. I was one of his favorites and I told him about you. He wasn't going to keep me under his control though so he had to get you out of his way. He didn't want you coming to take me back. He was going to do the same to everyone who loved one of his favorites." Clint explains.

 

“Loki is a very sad individual,” Phil groans as pain seizes his chest. “He thinks that if he kills all the love in the world and makes everybody else loveless… that it won’t hurt as much that he is too.”

 

Fury is in the doorway suddenly. “I need to speak to Agent Coulson,” he says, and then gives Clint a hard stare. “ _Alone_.”

 

Clint doesn't get up right away. He looks at Phil, asking his permission and only when he nods does he stand and slip past Fury into the hall. He doesn't go any farther though. He stays just out of sight, listening in. Not because he cares what they're saying but because he wants to hear Phil's voice.

 

“How are you feeling?” Fury asks.

 

“A little woozy. A little sore. Was the tube really necessary?” Phil answers. His voice is a lot clearer than it was moments before.

 

“Yes, it was necessary,” Fury says sternly. “This Asgardian bullshit is really getting to you these last few years. I thought you were supposed to be invincible.”

 

“Very funny, sir,” Phil chuckles. “You know I’m not.”

 

“I do now.”

 

Clint is confused. They don’t really seem to be talking about anything important. Why did he have to leave?

 

“We’re going to need to take extra precautions now that we really know what this otherworldly stuff can do to you,” Fury continues. “Until further notice, if you come across anything not of this Earth, you retreat.”

 

“Sir, I am more than capable of  dealing with – ”

 

“You are too important to the rest of the planet to give your life away to some alien monstrosity with a big ego. It was a mistake to let you onto this mission after seeing what happened to you in the Destroyer attack. You will let other operatives deal with the aliens, and you will stay focused on things of this planet, do you understand me?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Phil’s voice is drained now.

 

Outside in the hall Clint's brows are drawn tightly together in confusion. What they hell could they be talking about? Sure, everyone jokes about Phil being invincible but not Fury. And they sound so serious. And what the hell did he mean by "important to the rest of the planet"? Phil is just Phil. He's always just been Phil. He's wonderful, smart, brave, kind and strong but he's still just a man.  
  
At least, Clint always thought he was just a man. Except for those few times. But they had explanations. He had accepted that. But maybe he needs to look closer. Maybe Phil is more than he seems.

 

He ducks into a nearby room right as Fury leaves so it doesn’t look like he was eavesdropping. He slips back into the room beside Phil and immediately takes his outstretched hand again.

  
“Hey, babe” Phil smiles at him, and his voice has gone hoarse again. Which means he’s faking, and something in Clint shrivels up a little. Because if Phil is faking, that means he’s lying. He’s _lying_ to Clint.

 

His heart aches but he manages what looks like a genuine but tired smile. He doesn't go back to the cot though. He stays standing, holding Phil's hand.

 

"You know, I was thinking I could review the security footage from when he attacked you. I'm sure it's been looked at already but there might be something I can catch that the others didn't. Maybe he has a weakness we don't know about."

 

“I really don’t think there’s anything there to see,” Phil says weakly, licking his lips. “Fourteen people have looked it over. There’s nothing.”

 

"I have better eyes than they do. And I know Loki a lot better." Clint argues. "I'll wait until you fall asleep, don't worry. I'm not going to leave you."

 

“Okay, rephrase,” Phil says, tightening his hand on Clint’s a little more, “I don’t _want_ you to look at the footage. Please. I don’t want you to see that.”

 

Clint watches him for a minute and then slowly nods. He had no intention of actually ignoring the footage but if Phil is going to lie to him then he's going to lie to Phil too. Simple as that.

 

Phil relaxes in his bed with a smile. “Good. I don’t think you’d do anything but hurt yourself if you watched that footage, anyway. I imagine you already hate Loki enough, but if you witnessed something like that, your rage might actually burn you up from the inside.”

 

"Yeah maybe." Clint says. He doesn't argue and tell Phil he's seen people hurt before. People he loves and cares about. He's even hurt a few himself. There's really no point when he's going to watch the video no matter what. It's better to just let Phil think what he wants and allow him that peace of mind for a while. "You should sleep. It'll help you heal faster."

 

“I love you,” Phil whispers before he gracefully concedes, closing his eyes and rubbing his thumb over the back of Clint’s hand like it’s a tic. Clint stays until the thumb stills, and his breathing has steadied, and his heart rhythm is even before gently slipping his hand away.

 

Clint stands and kisses Phil's forhead before slipping silently from the room. He feels guilty for breaking his promise to Phil but he's done enough to feel guilty over in the last few days that it pales in comparison. If he was doing this out of spite he might feel worse but he's not. He's doing this because he loves Phil and he simply wants to understand what his husband might be trying to hide from him.

 

He heads to Phil's office and logs on using the older agent's password. Phil has the second highest security clearance in SHIELD so through his computer Clint is able to access the security footage easily.   
  
He watches, a rush of pride filling him as Phil comes in with the gun, ready to take on Loki alone. Then he goes cold as Loki appears behind him and his blade enters Phil's back. He rewinds the footage and switches to the other camera in the room, watching the same scene again from the new angle. He does this another eight times, switching between camera, watching the stabbing and Phil's collapse again and again. Finally he stops, freezing the image when the blood begins to stain the front of Phil's shirt.  
  
There's no denying it. The angle is unmistakeable. He's shot enough people to know where a person's vital organs are and how to hit them. Loki's blade hit Phil's heart, not his lung. He hadn't missed. Somehow Phil survived. It shouldn't have been possible, especially considering how long it took medical to get there. He should be dead. But he isn't. He's downstairs, alive and almost well.   
  
Clint just doesn't know how.

 

When he goes back to Phil’s room a while later, he’s still asleep, but stirring. His eyelids are moving beneath his eyes, his breathing seems labored and his heart rate isn’t steady anymore. He’s having a nightmare.

 

Clint sits warily, staring down and looking at the man he thought he knew. The man who survived being stabbed through the heart like no human should. Not even _in_ the heart, but _through the other side_. Clint’s not a doctor, but it’s pretty obvious that a human can’t survive being stabbed through the heart at the best of times, let alone with an alien scepter of lightning and death.

 

He wants to reach out and take Phil’s hand and hold him and sooth him through his nightmare (he’s breathing more heavily now) but something in Clint’s mind holds him back. Something about Phil doesn’t seem human anymore, something seems foreign. Even the way he breathes and moves now seem synthetic, and it frightens Clint. He doesn’t want to be scared of his husband, but the last close encounter he had with something inhuman was _Loki_ and that didn’t end well for anyone.

 

Phil isn't Loki, he tells himself. Phil won't use him and hurt him like Loki did. But he also thought Phil didn't lie to him and clearly he was wrong about that. Maybe nothing he thinks about Phil is true. Maybe he can't trust him like he believed he could.

 

His heart is heavy in his chest as he lies back down on his cot. He instantly curls in on himself, knees hugged tight to his chest and his head down, like a small child. Nothing feels right anymore and he doesn't know where he's supposed to go from here.

 

Clint keeps his eyes on Phil, watching him fighting through his nightmare until he drifts off to sleep himself.

 

When his eyes open a few hours later, Phil is accepting assistance from a nurse in order to drink some water. He looks pale and sweaty, and he coughs after only a few sips. She pulls away the cup and that’s when Clint realizes he’s actually taking pills, because he slips another one onto his tongue.

 

She leaves the room and Phil turns his head to smile mildly at Clint. “Hey, babe,” he mutters, his voice still hoarse. Is he still faking? Nothing seems real about him now.

 

"Hey," Clint replies a little too coldly. He doesn't know how to treat Phil now or how to act with him. He looks at him and sees his husband, the man he spent the last seven years loving. But he knows that he's not really the man he knows. That his husband isn't who he thought and it makes him an entirely new person.

 

“You’ve been asleep for some time,” Phil says, rearranging some of the blankets around his legs. “Since I woke up. Did you rest well? The doctors say you haven’t been doing much sleeping.”

 

"Not really. Nightmares." Clint shrugs. He sits up but keeps his feet on the cot, his knees still drawn up to his chest. He can't meet Phil's eyes. Which is bad. He's a trained spy and he's never had trouble pretending to be alright in the past. But now with Phil on top of everything with Loki he can't think of his training or how he's supposed to act.

 

“Me too,” Phil says softly, and reaches out to put his hand on Clint’s shoulder, and to his surprise, the younger man flinches away. His hand hovers in midair for a second, his expression hurt but steady. “Are you alright?” he asks cautiously.

 

"Sorry. I'm not feeling very well." the archer replies. Thinking quickly he adds, "Bad dreams about what happened with Loki. You understand right?"

 

“I understand,” Phil says, relaxing and letting his hand fall back to his side. “I am too. Turns out being stabbed nearly to death sticks with you.”

 

"But he missed your heart." Clint says a bit more boldly. His eyes flick up and meet Phil's. They hold them, the natural hazel dark and cold, daring Phil to continue to lie to him.

 

“Well, obviously. I _am_ still alive,” Phil chuckles, not missing a beat. It seems like it’s pre-meditated, like lying to him is second nature, doesn’t take any effort or thought.

 

Clint nods and stands up. "Yeah. Would you mind if I go train for a while?" he asks. Normally he'd stay with Phil until he knew he was going to be alright but he doesn't want to be anywhere near him right now. He wants to go and fire arrow after arrow until it all fades away and he can pretend it's just a bad dream.

 

“Sure, yeah,” Phil says with a sad smile. He can see the strain in Clint’s features, he can see how much he’s struggling with what happened with Loki. “Yeah, you’ve been here so long, go ahead.”

 

Clint doesn’t really come back though. He checks on Phil a few times over the next couple days, for a few minutes at a time, never coming close enough to him to touch him. He knows Phil thinks there’s something up, he can see the suspicion in those perfect, lying blue eyes. How dare Phil be suspicious of Clint’s activities when he’s so openly _lying_ to him?

 

He’s finally released rather late at night almost a week later, and the doctors told him all sorts of things he couldn’t do while he was still healing. Excited to see Clint again now that he’s on his feet, Phil goes right home. But Clint isn’t anywhere in their apartment (they moved out of the hotel once they got married.) He calls Clint’s cell phone, but it buzzes from the kitchen table.

 

Cursing, he calls Fury, who tells him that Clint has been sleeping in the barracks these last few days he hasn’t been in Phil’s room. Damning his bad luck, Phil returns to the base, feeling just a little bit tired at this point as he heads to the barracks where Clint should be.

 

Only he isn’t there either. With a groan, he sits on Clint’s bed. He’s probably in the range, but that’s on the other side of the base and Phil was only let out of medical today and he’s a little weary.

 

Clint comes back to his room later that night. He's been down in the gym and then the range since six that morning and he's looking forward to a shower and a quick meal. He hasn't really been sleeping in his room, preferring one of his nests in the vents most nights. The small enclosed space sets him at ease and keeps the nightmares at bay. He never had trouble with the bad dreams when he was with Phil but he has a feeling that's going to change when Phil gets out of medical.  
  
To his surprise Phil _is_ out of medical. And asleep on his bed in the barracks. Clint briefly struggles with whether or not he should wake him or let him sleep and just go up to his nest anyway. But if he lets him stay then Phil will still be there in the morning and there will be no escaping him then.  
  
So he sits down on the edge of the bed and gently shakes his husband awake.

 

 Phil startles awake and sits up too fast. Pain shoots through his chest and he doubles over again, groaning as the wave ebbs and passes.

 

“Clint,” he coughs, pleased to find he’s no longer discharging blood. “You – it’s morning. Have you been out all night?”

 

"It's only one." Clint says in his defense. "And yeah, I got a little carried away. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you still be in medical?"

 

“I was released at nine,” Phil says, itching to rub away some of the pain in his chest despite the doctors telling him not to. “I went home looking for you, but you haven’t been going home? Fury told me you’ve been sleeping in the barracks again. Didn’t want to go home alone?” he’s got a gentle smile on now. Clint doesn’t match his smile, and that worries him.

 

"No." he says, setting his bow aside. He stands up and starts pulling off his shift. "I'm going to shower then I'll drive you home alright? I've got a book over there you can read while you wait."

 

Phil flips through the book while Clint showers, but he finds himself distracted over and over by the pleasant thoughts of finally being home with Clint after so long on this Avengers mission. They haven’t properly snuggled in weeks, and it’s driving him up a wall.

 

Similarly, he’s been distracted with thoughts of Clint’s edging depression, and all the ways he can show Clint that he’s loved, and he’s precious to Phil. He needs to edge back into his heart and show him that his touch is something to be loved and relaxed into, not back away. He has bad ideas that Clint may have been touched in bad ways by Loki, based on the way he’s been avoiding Phil’s touch every now and then, on certain parts of his body, but he won’t ask questions he’s not ready to know the whole answer to.

 

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize Clint is there until he’s standing right over him, dressed and looking bitter.

 

“Ready to go?” Phil asks, easing himself up off the bed with a groan.

 

"Yeah." Clint says, already on his way to the door. He doesn't grab any of his things so he'll have an excuse to come back after he takes Phil home. Maybe it's a little cruel to leave him on his own after they've been separated for so long but he doesn't think he can stay with Phil, especially not there. That's there home and everywhere he looks he'll only be reminded on the lies and how Phil betrayed him. He'd rather be at the base, hidden away in his nest where no one can find him to hurt him.  
  
They sign out a car and Clint holds open the door for Phil to get in before sliding into the driver's seat. The ride home is tense and silent and for once Clint keeps his eyes on the road and his hands to himself.  
  
They get to the apartment and Clint's heart clenches painfully when he opens the door. It's just like it always is, as if nothing has changed. It feels surreal, like they should have come home to broken windows and ripped furniture, something to illustrate how broken things are between them.  
  
He helps Phil into the bedroom and arranges his pillows in the way he knows will make Phil most comfortable.  
  
"Do you need anything?" he asks once Phil is settled. "Tea or your medication or something?"

 

“No, I think I’m alright,” Phil smiles, either not noticing Clint’s tension or choosing to ignore it for the time being. “But I’d be better if you’d stop pacing around like a nervous jackrabbit and climb into bed.”

 

"Actually I think I should stay at the base tonight. A lot of my things are there and I have to dismantle my nest." the archer replies, looking at the floor instead of Phil. He knows Phil will be disappointed and he’ll give him that look that makes Clint want to beg for forgiveness but he won't do it this time.

 

Phil’s small smile disappears, and he slips off of bed again, padding over to where Clint is standing. “I don’t know what’s wrong, you’ve been acting strange for days now. But you’ve got to let me help, whatever it is. You’ve clearly got some… issues about this thing with Loki, and what I said before didn’t calm your nerves at all.” He immediately regrets choosing the word ‘issues’ because Clint already looks like he’s ready to run. “But you’ve got to let me in. Talk to me. You can trust me.”

 

"Trust you?" Clint asks incredulous. He looks up and glares daggers at the man. Phil looks confused and maybe a little scared but he doesn't care. He stands up straight and plants his feet, mouth twisted into a pained frown. "I can trust you, Phil? That's a laugh. Trust you when you've been lying to me for years. Fuck you."

 

All the color drains from Phil’s face and he takes a panicked step back, swallowing so hard that Clint can see it from where he stands.

 

“What are you talking about?” he says weakly.

 

"You know it's really stupid to try to hide anything from a spy. Especially when you make it obvious." Clint growls. "I heard you and Fury talking. I know you were faking your throat hurting. And I saw the fucking security footage. You got stabbed in the heart Phil! You were stabbed in the heart and you lived and you lied to me!"

 

Phil looks calm, but the kind of calm that’s forced, like he’s seconds away from freaking out. “I asked you not to look at that,” he says seriously, standing up straighter.

 

"And I said I wouldn't but I lied! I lied because you lied because apparently that's what we do! We lie to each other! How many other lies have you told me Phil?" Clint demands, face red and his voice getting louder with every word.

 

Phil still looks calm. He wants to say he isn’t lying. “I never told you anything to intentionally hurt you, Clint,” he says softly, not breaking eye contact. He takes a step forward, and Clint takes a step back to match, and that hurts more than anything else. “I would never lie to you if I could avoid it.”

 

"Bullshit." Clint spits at him. "Fucking bullshit. Maybe you couldn't tell me at first but we're married Phil. We were adopting a kid. If there was ever a time when you could tell someone something I would think it would occur somewhere around 'I do'. But I guess that's not fucking good enough for you, is it? And the worst part is that I actually trusted you. I trusted you for years and I thought maybe I'd gotten it right this time. And all along you were just like everyone else." He stops there and grimaces. "Well no. You're not. That's the thing isn't it? You're not like everyone else. And I don't know what you are but you lie like a human."

 

Phil feels weak and sick, and he stumbles back and falls down against the bed, glad that it was there to break his fall. He covers his hands with his face and it looks like he’s crying. His chest aches, and not from the wound stitched into his heart. He takes in a deep breath, but it comes out in a shudder and a moan of pain.

 

“Please don’t say that,” he chokes. “Please.”

 

“ _What are you?_ ” Clint hisses, and when Phil looks up his eyes are full of water.

 

“I wanted this, Clint!” he’s on his feet now. “I _wanted_ to marry you because I love you to death, and I needed more with you. I would never lie to you if I didn’t have to! Can you really tell me that everything else between us has been meaningless? I wanted to have a family with you, I wanted to be normal, I _wanted_ to be _human_ with you!” his voice cracks and he falls down on the bed again.

 

"I wanted to be normal with you too. I love you so much it hurts. I love you so much that knowing that everything we have is a lie made me want to put a bullet in my skull." Clint tells him, voice low and hollow. "I love you so much it makes me sick. I don't care what you are Phil. I care that you lied to me. You know how much trusting you cost me and you lied to me anyway." He leans against the wall, his own eyes starting to water. "I wish Natasha had never brought me back. I wish she had just killed me or left me with Loki. You were right, he did shit to me that I'll probably be dealing with for years. But he never lied to me and underneath it all I still loved you and believed in you."

 

Phil swallows hard. “I wish… I wish you would believe me when I tell you that I would never lie to you unless I had to. Unless I was _legally obligated_ to lie to you. I would never lie otherwise,” he looks up into Clint’s eyes.

 

Clint just looks at him for a minute. He wishes he could believe Phil. He wishes he could run to him and throw his arms around him and let it all be forgotten. But Phil lied. Phil betrayed his trust and even now he won't tell him the truth. So Clint stands and shakes his head.  
  
"I love you Phil. And when you want to tell me the truth I'll be waiting. Until then I'm going back to the barracks and then I'll probably go stay with the rest of the Avengers. I'll send Natasha to get my stuff."

 

“If I could tell you I would,” Phil says, and suddenly on his feet and he steps in front of Clint, blocking him from leaving – and when was he ever able to move that fast? “But let’s entertain the thought for a moment that I’m not – ” he swallows. “ – human. Let’s _assume_ for a moment that’s true, and let’s assume in this hypothetical situation that I’m obligated into silence because of SHIELD regulations, in this hypothetical situation would you really feel comfortable blaming me for not being able to tell you, hypothetically?”

 

"I would blame you for not trying. Or even giving me the slightest hint of what you are." Clint says firmly. "I would blame you for constantly covering things up when you could have told me that there was something about you that was different you just couldn't say exactly what. I would blame you for letting me walk down that aisle not knowing who the hell you are."

 

Phil suddenly grabs Clint by the arms and he can see that he’s a little scared, but if that’s what will get him to listen then so be it.

 

“And what if, in this hypothetical situation, I told you that anyone I revealed this information to, SHIELD is legally obligated to _kill_ , Clint! What if hypothetically, telling you this information could get you _killed!_ There are men in SHIELD with bigger guns who know how to use them better than you do, and you can’t outrun them forever. Hypothetically, I would be faced to keep you in the dark and keep you alive so that I can continue to love you, or tell you this hypothetical information and risk _losing_ you!”

 

"You risk losing me by lying too. Honestly I'd rather be dead!" Clint yells back, trying to pull away but Phil is so much stronger than him all of a sudden and it's scaring him.

 

Phil lets go like Clint has burned him, and he looks angry and hurt and sad. “You’d rather be dead than be with me?” he whispers weakly.

 

"I'd rather be dead than not be able to trust you. I'd rather be dead than think you've been using me as a cover all this time." Clint replies. He tentatively reaches up and caresses Phil's cheek. "I would rather have been killed because you told me the truth than be walking out of here because you didn't. I can't make it any simpler than that Phil."

 

“I couldn’t put you in danger like that,” Phil tilts his cheek into Clint’s touch. “I couldn’t live with myself if I did that to you. If this hypothetical situation were true, I would tell you to go talk to Fury. Because I still love you too much to put you in danger when I can avoid it.”

 

Clint sighs and leans in to give Phil a kiss on the cheek. "If you want to tell me you ask Fury. Until then I'm going to the Tower. I want to be with Tasha right now."

 

Phil’s heart is throbbing painfully in his chest, and he suddenly wishes for a moment that Loki had managed to kill him, because this is so much worse than death. He looks down at the ground and swallows hard. He doesn’t want to let Clint go, but he doesn’t want to be there with him.

 

“Okay… go,” he says weakly, stepping away with a look on his face like he wants to fall into the floor and never come out again.

 

"I love you Phil." Clint says one last time before he slips away. He gets to the car but doesn't turn it on. He can't decide between running back inside and telling Phil it doesn't matter and they can keep pretending or just driving forever. But the first is too weak and the second too likely to be interrupted. So he turns on the car and drives out onto the darkened street, heading for his empty room.

 

Phil wants to go to Fury right away, but he knows that he doesn’t like to be disturbed after hours. He doesn’t think he can fall asleep, but he’ll try.

 

First thing in the morning he takes off for SHIELD headquarters and marches right into Fury’s office, disregarding the people telling him “he’s busy.”

 

“What’s this about, agent?” Fury asks as he looks up at the tired-looking Phil.

 

“Clint knows something is up. I need permission to tell him about Project Radiance, or I’m going to lose him.”


	6. Chapter 6

The sixth time comes later. Days after the argument and Clint still hasn't heard anything from Phil. His phone doesn't ring or buzz with a text. He hasn't gotten an email or seen the man since he walked out of the apartment. He wakes every morning after the few restless hours of sleep he can manage wondering if today's the day a lawyer is going to show up with divorce papers for him. The thought chills him to the core and whenever it crosses his mind he moves a little closer to Tasha.  
  
She can see something is wrong. They all can but if they ask he mutters about Loki and not sleeping and "I don't want to talk about it I just want a drink." He almost never leaves Tasha's side. Tony offers him a guest room but he prefers to share hers, curling up against her and letting her whisper to him in Russian until she lulls herself to sleep and then accidentally kicks him out of bed in the middle of the night.  
  
He keeps waiting, keeps hoping, but he never hears from Phil. He doesn't cry about it, even though he's sure his marriage and the only good thing in his life is over. He doesn't really give any sign except flinching whenever someone walks into the room and he can't see them. The other Avengers just accept it as his way of coping with what happened and after two days no one even notices anymore.

 

It’s almost a week and a half later before he gets a text, and all it says is,

 

_Fury needed me to tie up a few loose ends before I was able to release the information legally. He wants to make sure you understand that telling you could put you at great personal risk._

 

So formal, so brisk, it’s like Phil didn’t even send it, like it’s a business transaction or something.

 

Clint reads the message three times, looking for any hint of anything personal. Anything that hints at Phil wanting this. But he doesn't see anything. And for about half a second he considers waiting a week to reply, to make Phil as nervous as he was. But he's not that spiteful and even if he was he's ten times more desperate and lonely.  
  
So he types back a simple _I understand. I don't care._ And hits send.

 

 _Meet me at our apartment in an hour_ his phone buzzes almost immediately, quelling any fears that it would be another week before he got a reply. And then, before he can say anything, another text.

 

_Fury needs me to make you swear you won’t ever tell anyone what I will tell you._

_You know I won't._ Clint types back. He jumps off the couch where he and Tasha are sitting and presses a quick kiss to her cheek. "I'm going out. I need to get ready so I'm going to go. Wish me luck."  
  
And he runs out.

 

He’s not halfway to Phil’s and his home less than half an hour later before his phone starts to buzz again, only it’s Tony calling. He picks up the phone and before he can even say ‘hello’ Stark is yelling at him.

 

“Where on God’s green earth did you spirit away to?! We need your ass uptown, _Loki escaped Asgard_ and he’s back and raising hell!”

 

"Fuck." Clint growls and hangs up. His bow and quiver are in the trunk so he makes a quick U-turn and heads back uptown. He picks up his phone and sends a quick text to Phil, nearly getting himself killed in the process, to tell him what's going on.  
  
He gets to the scene of the battle and can already tell things aren't going well for the Avengers. Thor is nowhere in sight, Tasha and Bruce are unconscious and even Steve looks worried. He can see Loki, grinning like the mad man he is, scepter in hand, taking carefully aimed shots at his teammates.  
  
Growling he throws himself out of the car and practically crawls around to the back so Loki can't get a clear shot at him. This time he's going to put an arrow in that bastard's eye, consequences be damned.

 

Tony comes flying in, but Loki hits him with a spell and suddenly he’s magnetized to the nearest surface and absolutely helpless. Bruce’s clothes are shredded, which means Loki somehow subverted his transformation, and Natasha has a gash across her head. Steve is doubled over, clutching his ribcage, and from where he is Clint can see there’s a knife embedded in his body, with ice slowly spreading out from the wound.

 

“I see you, darling,” Loki says icily, spinning around and giving Clint a sultry stare that sends shudders of disgust running through him. “Have you come back to me?” he sneers.

 

 "I'd rather die you sick fuck." Clint growls. He throws his quiver over his shoulder and grabs an arrow and his bow. He slams the trunk shut and takes aim before letting his arrow fly, straight towards Loki's face.

 

Loki catches the shaft just like he did during his attack on New York, only this time he has enough sense to toss it aside, and when it explodes against a wall, it showers rubble down on Natasha and Bruce.

 

“You can’t try the same trick twice, my little hawk,” Loki chides, licking his lips as he starts to pace in a circle around the man.

 

"I'm not yours. I never was." Clint shouts back. He nocks another arrow but doesn't let it fly. He just holds it in front of him, drawn and ready in case Loki gets too close. His eyes are sharp and unwavering, looking for any opening he can take.

 

“Oh, but you were mine,” Loki grins maliciously. “Don’t you remember, little hawk? Don’t you remember the touch of my fingers on your body? Don’t you _remember_ the way I made you writhe with ecstasy beyond any of your imaginings? I know you do, don’t pretend like you don’t. I can see it – a little blue in your eyes. I’m still there, aren’t I?”

 

"SHUT UP!" Clint screams, letting the arrow fly, aimed for Loki's stomach this time.

 

Loki steps aside. The arrow imbeds in the floor by Steve’s feet. He moves so quickly Clint can’t react, and suddenly Loki has him by the jaw, crushing the sides of his cheeks together in his cold, spidery fingers.

 

“I’m still there, in the back of your mind, and the memory of the pleasure I brought to you still haunts you,” he sneers.

 

“Please step away,” a calm voice suddenly utters, and Loki whirls around to see Phil standing there with a pistol raised, as if he thinks it’ll do a damn thing against the Asgardian. “That one’s mine.”

 

Loki's sneer turns into a grimace and he drops Clint who lands hard on his knees. The god turns, his cold eyes staring dagger at Phil.  
  
"The man in the suit. I believe my blade had pierced your heart. I shall be more careful this time. And when I am done I will leave with my prize." he laughs, grabbing Clint by the hair. He aims his scepter at Phil and a bolt of light knocks the pistol out of his hands. "He makes such a pretty pet. Though I might have to clip his wings this time."

 

“You must have missed,” Phil shook off his hand, which stung a little bit from the bolt. “Some god you are, can’t hit a target the size of a fist at point-blank range. There are adolescent SHIELD operatives not out of grade school yet who can aim better than you.” He doesn’t even look at Clint, or at everyone else, who’s gawking at Phil like he’s a ghost.

 

“Fury said you died!” Tony hollers.

 

“Fury lied,” Phil says, not even giving Tony the grace of looking his way. “As I was saying, I’d really appreciate it if you stepped away from my husband. He doesn’t look comfortable, and I really don’t want to have to break my knuckles on your face.”

 

"I'd like to see you try." Loki laughs. He tugs Clint up by his hair and holds his scepter centimeters from the younger man's chest. "Now I would prefer you forfeit your weapons, agent. My little bird told me how you always carry a spare. Toss it away, unless you would rather have your beloved husband for your enemy."

 

“The fact that you’re only threatening to do so says a lot,” Phil says, reaching into his pocket to pull out his second pistol, before clicking the ammo clip out and tossing it in one direction, his gun in the other. “Why haven’t you just done it already? Perhaps because you know we have discovered how to alleviate the symptoms? Or maybe because you actually fear me, a man who survived being stabbed through the chest by _you_ , so you feel the need to keep holding it over me.”

 

His voice is calm and even as he approaches Loki steadily, who is tracing him with his eyes.

 

"Perhaps I enjoy watching my little bird struggle. Did he tell you that? That he would come to me, begging for me to take him?" Loki sneers. "And when I had him writhing in ecstasy beneath me I would remove my influence and watch him fight to get away, just for a moment?"  
  
Clint tries to pull away but Loki just holds him tighter. The god's lip curls as Phil's jaw tightens in anger. He lifts his scepter and takes aim, shooting a bolt of blue lightening that grazes Phil's shoulder. "Warning shot. I'm feeling merciful and will allow you to turn back now, relinquish your claim to him and keep your life."

 

“How about you take us both?” Phil offers with outstretched hands, keeping Loki confused so he can continue to move closer. “Two lovers are better than one, are they not? I’ve got more hidden under this suit than most people assume. Or hell, even take me instead of him. I’ll even go with you willingly if you let him walk out of here.”

 

“Phil – !”

 

“Clint, shut up,” Phil says sharply. “What’ll it be, Loki?” he asks as he continues to move closer.

 

"I don't make deals with mortals." Loki replies. He drops Clint and holds him down with a foot on his back. "Besides, knowing someone loved him enough to offer their life for his will make his cries that much sweeter."  
  
He lifts his scepter again and aims a barrage of icy spikes at the agent's head.

 

“Oh, I’m no ordinary mortal,” Phil smiles, ducking the barrage easily. “And I’m not offering my life, I’m offering my ass, that’s two very different things,” he says as he draws still nearer, close enough that Loki doesn’t feel panicked.

 

"Not with me." Loki laughs. He lifts the blade again and this time a ball of fire begins to grow from the tip. "If you had walked away I might have come back for you when I had worn him out. Unfortunately you've tested my patience. Say goodbye to your love, my little hawk." Loki smiles down at Clint before the ball, now the size of Phil's torso, goes flying towards him.

 

Phil steps to the side as if he is going to dodge, but much to the surprise of everyone around, he seems to _catch_ the spelled ball of fire with his bare hand, and hurtles it back at a very off-guard Loki, who catches it full in the chest. He’s thrown back off Clint’s body and lands flat on his back, staring dazedly upwards.

 

“Ouch,” Phil mutters, his palms stinging with the after-effects of the magic fire, and he knows there will probably be blisters on his palms later. “Listen, _Loki_ ,” Phil says, stepping past Clint and stomping his foot down on the trickster’s chest as he tries to sit up, pinning him to the ground. He takes the scepter from Loki’s hand and flings it aside, where the blue glow begins to dull. “I didn’t very much like you before, especially after I found out that you took my husband to use as your filthy little sex doll, but that was forgivable, if only just barely. But then you have the _gall_ to use your little _alien toy_ to stab me in the chest.”

 

He steps off Loki’s chest and gathers his robes and armor in his hands, ignoring the stinging as he pulls the demigod off the ground.

 

“I’m usually a pretty chill guy, but as I’ve found out over the years there are only _two_ things that really _royally piss me off_. Number one – when someone touches things that belong to me. I don’t even loan other agents my _pen_ , let alone _my husband_.” He pauses to punch Loki hard in the nose, and blood immediately spills down the trickster’s face, and he grunts helplessly. Why is this mortal so strong that he cannot break away?! “And number two – I don’t like it when people _hurt_ me. You’re the only person to manage it in years, not once, but _twice_.” He punches Loki in the mouth, and Loki feels one of his teeth crack as he’s jerked into a higher sitting position.

 

“You, you _Almighty Fuckwad_ have managed _both_ of the things that piss me off more than anything else. I’d say you’re pretty much fucked.” He gives Loki another punch in the mouth, and one of his teeth cracks out of his jaw altogether.

 

Clint gets up, gasping and stumbles over to Phil. Tony is down from the wall and Bruce is awake and both are staring at Phil with a mix of awe and horror. He exchanges quick looks with them, silently silencing them while he approaches his husband.  
  
"Phil." he says gently, placing a hand on the agent's shoulder. "Phil stop. You won, it's over. He's finished."

 

Phil releases Loki, who falls limply to the ground and rolls over to cover his broken face, and he takes a handkerchief out of his pocket to clean the blood from his knuckles, before discarding it on the writhing trickster.

 

“Clint, are you hurt?” he asks, turning to his husband and inspecting him for any immediate damage.

 

"Sore. But the only thing wounded is my ego. I'm sorry you had to hear all that." Clint says. He takes Phil's hand gingerly and begins to inspect the burns.

 

“Okay, there’s no way I’m just going to pretend I didn’t just see that,” Tony says as he begins to approach.

 

“You will if you want to keep your life,” Phil says sharply as he looks over his shoulder, and Tony stops walking.

 

"Best to let it be Tony. He hasn't even told me yet." Clint says with a rueful smile. He goes to the car and comes back with a first aid kit. He pulls out a burn salve and begins applying it to Phil's hand. "I'd tell you this will hurt but it probably won't seeing as you're superman."

 

“I’m not superman,” Phil says bitterly as the salve is worked into his skin.

 

“What the hell was all that?” Bruce asks weakly. “Are you one of them, Coulson?”

 

“The less you know, the less danger you’re in,” Phil sighs. “I know you’re probably all very curious but this is classified on top of classified on top of Top Secret. So don’t bother snooping, Stark. Even you couldn’t crack these firewalls.” He adds after a moment, “And that wasn’t a challenge.”

 

Steve pulls the dagger from his stomach, his suit soaked with the water from the melting ice, and he stares at Phil warily, who looks more hurt at his judgmental stares than anyone else. 

 

“Can we just… go home?” Phil asks, collecting Clint into his arms and pressing his face into his husband’s shoulders to hide from everyone’s stares. “I really want to be out of the open.”

 

"Yeah come on, I'll drive." Clint says, leading Phil over to the car. He yells back over his shoulder, "If you guys don't get Tash to medical in five minutes I will kill all of you except Banner." Then the climb in and take off.  
  
They're about five minutes away from the battle field when Clint pulls his arms back and punches Phil hard in the arm. It hurts his hand more than it probably hurt the agent but he figures he made his point.  
  
"You're an asshole, you know that?"

 

Phil gapes. “Wh- _what?_ I just – I saved everyone! Probably outed myself, they’re all judging me, they don’t think I’m human anymore, which means more of these hurtful rumors will fly. I did it because I _care_ about you lot, and you’re calling me _names?_ ” he isn’t sure how much more emotional torment he can take. “Let’s keep in mind I did this all while my _heart_ is still healing from nearly being _cleaved in two!_ ”

 

"You leave me in that tower for a week, thinking I'm either going to be hearing from your divorce lawyer or getting a bullet in the head and then you go and offer to give yourself to Loki for me?" Clint snaps. He glares at Phil. "Mixed signals Phil. I can only handle so many conflicting emotions in a day before a lose it. So you're an ass. I love you but you're an ass. Deal with it."

 

“Fury wouldn’t _let_ me contact you until I wrapped up the loose ends he sent me out to do – all of which, I will mention again, _I did with my heart held together with staples!_ I did that for _you_ , so that I could wrap it up as quickly as possible and finally _tell_ you what you want to know!” Phil says breathlessly.

 

"Well how was I supposed to know that? I've been panicking for days." Clint says sharply. Then he sighs and offers Phil his hand. "Sorry. I'm fucking pissed off about the whole Loki thing after all the shit that's gone on between you and me. I'm wound up too tight. How's your heart doing?"

 

“Beating like a drum, these staples might bust out through my chest if it beats any faster,” Phil says thickly, covering his face. “Did you see the way they _looked_ at me?” he whispers.

 

"They were surprised Phil. What did you expect? You caught a fire ball and then beat a Frost Giant into the ground. They're confused. So am I." Clint says. "They'll get over it. It's kind of what they do. And they won't tell anyone, Steve will make sure of that."

 

Phil doesn’t uncover his face. He feels a wetness stinging at his eyes, and has to fight to keep it down, as well as his lunch, which is threatening to spill onto the ground.

 

“I wish I could ask you not to think of me any differently,” he says weakly, and maybe a little bit more sniffly than he meant to sound. “But I don’t think that’s possible.”

 

"I don't give a fuck what you are Phil. Unless you're a zombie. But alien, mutant, robot, whatever, I don't care. That doesn't make any difference to me. I already think differently of you because you lied to me, you know that." he replies, pulling into the garage next to their apartment building.

 

Phil looks at Clint with hurt eyes. “I _had_ to. Please, you have to understand that,” he says desperately.

 

"I can understand hiding it at first. I don't understand continuing to manipulate me when you knew I wanted to spend my life with you. Did you think I would leave you if I knew you weren't human?" Clint asks. "Because you could have told me that much. You could have told me you weren't human but you were forbidden to say more than that. Or you could have asked Fury to be allowed to tell me. Clearly he knows and he's letting you tell me now."

 

“After I killed thirteen men,” Phil says bitterly. “It took a lot of convincing to let him let you in on the best kept secret in SHIELD.”

 

Clint's quiet for a moment. Then he pulls the keys out of the ignition and opens the door. He goes around the car and opens the door for Phil, offering his husband a hand to help him out of the car.  
  
"Let's go upstairs and you can tell me more." he says, his voice softer now. "I want you to tell me everything you've kept hidden from me."

 

They head upstairs in total silence (most tense elevator ride of Phil’s life) and they’re quiet until they enter their apartment and lock the door behind them. He double and triple checks the door to make sure it’s locked before finally pacing into the kitchen and sinking into a chair to hang his head in his hands.

 

“The truth is…” he starts quietly. “I was afraid you would think of me differently. You remember the first time you came home with me, years ago? And I told you all those rumors that the younger agents spread about me? Well… those rumors really hurt when they’re true, because I can’t even truthfully tell them to knock it off.”

 

Clint is breathless from where he leans against the counter. “Holy shit. You really are a robot?”

 

“No, I’m not a robot,” Phil laughs. “I… I started out as a human. Back in 1933.”

 

"So...you're kind of like Cap? But without the obvious muscle?" Clint asks, eyebrows raised. "But even Cap couldn't take a blade through the heart. Are you some kind of amped up version?"

 

“I was… I was the failed attempt to make Captain America. _He’s_ the refined version,” Phil says bitterly, twisting an old newspaper in his hands to give them something to do. “I guess that’s… why I’m such a fan of him.”

 

" _He's_ the refined version? But you're so much better!" Clint argues, clearly confused. "You heal better, can take more and don't have to eat! You lasted six days on just coffee and sugar pills!"

 

“You – ” Phil cocks his head up at the man. “You looked at my pills?”

 

Clint nods, face heating up in embarrassment. "I couldn't sleep. I got up and I saw your coat and I just wanted to take a look. The bottle was blank and when I took one out it crumbled. I figured it was a placebo effect thing, that you didn't know they were sugar." He stops and his body tenses up. "But you did, didn't you? That's why you didn't want me asking about them. God I'm such an idiot."

 

“Only because I led you around like one,” Phil frowns, he’s too restless to sit anymore, so he stands and begins to pace. “Anyway, the serum was used on me, and… well, there were no changes to my physical appearance. I got stronger, but only because it unlocked the potential for me to use 100% of my muscle mass at will, whereas an average human uses about 13 to 20% in daily life, but it came with incredibly damaging effects. I could lift a helicopter off a fallen man and save his life, but I’d tear myself a new one in the process. I didn’t actually build any new muscle, which is what they were aiming for – with no negative effects.”

 

"What changed?" Clint asks, because obviously something had. Somewhere along the line they must have done something because Phil has never shown any side-effects when his strength came into play. And that elucidation didn't explain how he healed so fast or how he could survive being stabbed in the heart.

 

“I built on it. Built up my tolerance I was… admittedly frustrated when they cast me aside to try building a new one. They didn’t want someone who could heal fast or go a long time without eating, they wanted someone who could _fight_. And if I couldn’t fight hard without tearing a muscle… they wanted nothing to do with me. So they made me swear secrecy or they would… they would kill my wife and child.”

 

Clint stares at him like his heart’s just been ripped out.

 

“Don’t look at me like that, it was almost eighty years ago,” Phil mutters, looking down at the floor.

 

"Fuck Phil." Clint curses, leaning forward onto the table. Phil was married. Phil was married with a kid and he probably has grandkids and maybe great grandkids out there somewhere. He can't really wrap his mind around it. It doesn't seem right but when he looks at Phil he knows it's true.

 

Phil swallows hard. “I didn’t listen to them,” he breathes. “I told my wife, I told my little girl,” his voice choked up. “And they were killed. Just like they said they would be.” He looks up again and meets Clint’s eyes. “That’s why… I was so afraid to lose you.”

 

Clint looks down, his eyes starting to water. He can't believe how cruel he was and how much he must have hurt Phil. He feels sick with himself and he wonders if Phil will ever forgive him. "I'm so sorry Phil. I know that's not enough but I am."

 

“My wife wasn’t a trained assassin,” Phil defends weakly. “I… I equaled you, in the unconscious part of my mind, to a housewife from the 1930’s, I should have… I should have put more faith in you.”

 

"No, no. I shouldn't have pushed." Clint argues, looking up at Phil. "I was being selfish. I didn't even think it could be something like that. I never thought you could be hurting so much. I'm so, so sorry Phil."

 

“I’ve… I’ve done my fair share of mourning,” Phil gives a weak smile. “I’ve… put it behind me. It was so long ago.”

 

He clears his throat and pushes off the table to continue pacing. “Ah, anyway, they killed my family, mother, father, everything, and they were working on a way to kill me when – ”

 

“Wait – ” Clint interrupts. “Who was that at the wedding?”

 

Phil swallows and looks down. “SHIELD agents that I… I paid off to act like my parents,” he says guiltily.

 

 "Wow. That's kind of low Phil. You could have just told me they were dead. It's not really that unusual in our line of work." Clint says with a shake of his head. And he'd spent all night being nice to them, thinking he was joining a family. He can only imagine how they'd laughed at him afterwards.

 

“I wanted to experience the whole thing,” Phil sighs. “I wanted _you_ to experience it. I… I just wanted the complete package. And it wasn’t totally a lie; they’re sort of like parental figures to me, even if they’re a lot younger. They’re very good agents, and good friends of mine, very high up on the ladder.”

 

He looks at Clint and sees that this one isn’t being won, so he moves on.

 

“They killed my family, and that’s when the beginnings of SHIELD found out about it – back when they didn’t even have an official title yet – and they wanted to take over the project. So they took me in, kept me safe, and eliminated the people who first engineered the serum, and gave it to Erskine to refine it, using me as a base model. After failing with the Schmidtt, they tweaked it until they came up with something that beefed up the test subject, amped up their immune system and the like, but they couldn’t perfectly combine my near-invulnerability with the addition of muscle mass. Until the Asgardians came into the picture, nothing could touch me. No bullets or fire or bombs could penetrate my skin, but then those otherworldly bastards started kicking dirt in my eyes and… well, stabbing me in the chest.”

 

"But even that isn't enough to kill you." Clint supplies, not really thinking about it. "I wish I'd known. I wouldn't have worried about you so much. I guess I must look pretty pathetic compared to you, huh?"

 

“On the contrary, I’ve… I’ve come to appreciate the fragility of human beings, and how they continue to endure despite that. And I’m… envious of the way they get to grow old and die. I haven’t aged a day since they infused me. Which means… I will watch you grow old and die, which is a thought that frightens me down to my very core. But that fear is not more powerful than my love, so here I am, married to you and pretending with every fiber of my being that everything will turn out okay and pretending that I won’t have to watch you die.”

 

His voice breaks and he leans against the counter. “Which is why I so badly want to have a child with you. So I can watch the child continue to grow even after you are gone, and I can follow him or her to our grandchildren, and so on. So I will always… have someone.”

 

Clint walks around the table and takes Phil's least injured hand. "Are you sure? Because it won't be like your family before. I can't replace them. I don't think you really want me to but if you did I couldn't. I won't be like your wife. It's going to be broken and I'll be sad a lot and our child won't be yours by blood. It's not something you'll be able to compare if that's what you want."

 

 “I buried my family eighty years ago,” Phil says, squeezing Clint’s hand. “I put them to rest, and I took ten years to mourn them proper. I’ve… disassociated myself from the pain to keep from losing it over the years. It doesn’t even feel like my family I talk about anymore, honestly, it’s like a story I heard once upon a time that I retell. I’m not looking for something to replace it, I’m looking for something new to love.” He lifts both of his hands to cup Clint’s face. “You’re my something new.”

 

"You promise you won't tire of me when I become something old?" Clint laughs nervously. He leans into the soft touch and wraps his arms around Phil's waist.

 

“I could never tire of you for as long as I live,” Phil says, nosing Clint’s cheek and trying not to imagine what life will be like without this perfect man. “So now that you know the truth about me… do you think of me differently?”

 

"Sure." he says. He can feel Phil tense in his arms and he hugs him tighter. "Not in a bad way. You're more badass than I thought. It's nice knowing I don't have to worry about you as much. Puts me at ease. I'm still ridiculously in love with you and I still want to have a family with you."

 

Phil pulls away to smile at Clint. “Yeah?” he says with a chuckle. “You don’t think of me as some… freak? I'm a failed lab experiment.”

 

"So's Bruce." Clint shrugs. "And Tony's technically dying. And Cap is a science fair project and Tasha is a testament to the disaster of human conditioning. Hell, Thor's an alien. We're all freaks Phil. That's why we work so well together. So like I said, I don't give a fuck what you are."

 

Phil seems relaxed now and he presses his forehead to Clint’s. “Well that’s good, because even if you didn’t like me anymore you’re still stuck with me.”

 

“Till death do us part,” Clint quoted with a smile, and captured his husband’s lips in a kiss.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 ===

 

 

 

 

 

 

Death parted them much sooner than Phil would have liked.

 

Clint died at the age of 63. He was a SHIELD operative right up until the day he died, still as strong and sturdy (if maybe a little whiter in the hair and a little less defined in the muscles) as ever. A bullet to the head from the gun of a man with a life long history of mental health problems ended his life. Phil killed that man with his own gun, but it did nothing to stop the pain he felt.

 

He still had their son. A year after Phil revealed to Clint what exactly he was, they adopted a little boy named Matthew. Matthew wasn’t happy when he got the news of Clint’s death either, but somehow his pain seemed so much less compared to Phil’s.

 

They’re standing over Clint’s grave now, tears rolling down Phil’s face and a bouquet crushed in his hand. Matthew is thirty-five years old, and his fourteen-year-old daughter is weaving in and out of gravestones a few rows away, his four-year-old balanced on his hip.

 

“It’ll be okay, dad,” he says, even though he isn’t sure he means it.

 

Phil says nothing as the funeral precession disperses slowly. Matthew is the last to leave with his children once he’s absolutely sure his father will be alright. Phil expresses no desire to leave, so after an hour of watching him from a distance, Matthew finally returns home with his children to mourn with his wife.

 

Phil stands rooted to the spot for hours, hardly blinking, barely breathing, trying to rationalize his own pain. It somehow feels so much worse than the last time he lost his loved one, because last time it was his fault and he could put that pain on himself, and he could own it and take responsibility for it and eventually forgive himself and move on.

 

But this time it wasn’t his fault at all. In fact, it was Clint’s fault. He wasn’t supposed to go after that man alone, but he did anyway because he’d always had a twisted view of his own mortality. And so Phil couldn’t be angry with himself, the only person he could be angry with was currently buried in a pine box six feet under his shoes.

 

With a cry like a wounded animal, Phil throws the flowers down to the grass so hard a few of the stems snap. His knees feel weak, and he wants to curse Clint to hell for leaving him alone like this after only forty years together.

 

Words are lost to him. In his grief all he can express are noises. He falls to his knees in the grass dampening as the sun goes down and he lowers his forehead to the cool gravestone, where he stays for many hours before finally going home near dawn to collapse in bed.

 

Bed is so much bigger without Clint in it.


End file.
